If You Want Something Done Right
by Toriana
Summary: This is an Alternate Love Never Dies plot that has been buzzing in my brain ever since I saw the Australian Version for the first time. Before that, I only knew the book, but I fell in love with Ben Lewis's Phantom and have been obsessing about all things POTO ever since. And I still think Erik deserves better than ALW left him with . . . E/C - Completed
1. Chapter 1 A Deal You Can't Refuse

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1 A Deal You Can't Refuse**

* * *

If You Want Something Done Right . . . .

_This is an Alternate Love Never Dies plot that has been buzzing in my brain ever since June when I saw Love Never Dies (Australian Version) for the first time. Before that, I only knew the book, but I fell in love with Ben Lewis's Phantom and have been obsessing about all things POTO ever since. Maybe if I can write all this out – I can get it out of my head – or maybe I'm doomed to be a Phangirl for life – at the ripe old age of 54 (sighs.) At Any rate – I'm swiping a page off Heinlein's Number Of The Beast for my Time Theory – and - just so the Who Fans can quit throwing brickbats – I DID NOT Steal a TARDIS, OK? I've had my own Virtual TARDIS Since '82 – when I picked up my TARDIS key at a convention in Rosemont. Oh, and just to be clear about the timeline – The date Tia hits the Opera House is about a week AFTER Beneath A Moonless Sky – And I Own Tia and Ciara – and maybe a few NPC 's down the road – All else belongs to Leroux, ALW, etc, etc, etc._

On with the story . . .

Tia gulped nervously as she took inventory of all the things she had just stuffed into her (heavily And specifically remodeled) TARDIS – thanking her lucky stars that her family hadn't figured out what she was doing in time to stop her /Or I'd NEVER have gotten this far. Ok, Kevlar, Asbestos Fiber, Unbreakable Rope, Food Supplies, Research Materials,/ she grimaced at the thought of how MUCH of these she had had to pack /One million gold coins, several thousand assorted gemstones, a fully equipped and automated sickbay, a heavily armored collar for meeting up with Gr -/ oops, CAN'T call him that!/ Erik in - got it all. Now to set the timetick/ she did so/ and then back to Paris 1895, Opera Populaire, 5th cellar, here I come. And I hope to GHU I can talk him into this - or I'm going to be stuck on this mission **forever**!/ The ship left the place where it was parked and disappeared, only to reappear as a largish wooden door in the side of a stone wall in the 5th cellar, near an exhausted and nearly unconscious man with a white half-mask on his face dressed in what had once been a finely fitting suit before he had lost about 20 pounds (which made him look even more skeletal than usual.)

**Chapter 1 – A Deal You Can't Refuse**

Erik looked up, startled and suspicious. /I know every inch of this cellar and that door was NOT there before! WHAT is going on here?/ Surreptitiously, he forced his hand into his pocket for a lasso – it was not easy, he had been actively avoiding the mob for over 2 days and he really needed to sleep - but the adrenaline rush helped, a little. Keeping his eyes on the "door" he saw a young-looking female (in what appeared to be men's clothing but in the most bizarre colors) slip out of it. His lasso went about her neck in a blur almost too fast to see, but she just sighed and said, a little annoyance in her voice "Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, I'd like to get us both safely out of here, IF you don't mind!"

Bewildered but still in "automatic attack" mode, Erik tightened the noose a bit more, only to notice, belatedly, that she had a collar of what looked like steel about her neck. Then her words registered. "Out of here safely? BOTH of us? Who are you and what do you mean by "formalities" anyway?"

She sighed again and said "That's a long story and this is not a safe place to discuss it – can we adjourn to somewhere a bit more private and I will tell you all about it, but I'll give you this much right here and now – my name is Tia, I am from the future and I am here to stop a terrible tragedy from happening – no matter how long it takes me to do so. I'll do it alone if I must – but it would be a LOT easier if I can get you to co-operate, or, failing that, not to hinder me. I can make it worth your while, and NO, I am not talking about money, or at least, not only about money. Now, can we go somewhere and discuss this, and while we're at it, can you please quit with the lasso, I'm NOT your enemy – in fact – if you are physically injured, my mission is a failure anyhow and I might as well just stay down here and hassle what's left of the Opera House myself."

"The future. And they call ME insane."

She actually let out a growl of frustration, grabbed his arm, and swung/dragged him the few feet through her "door". "This is safe enough for now" Tia was slamming the door as she spoke "as long as the door is shut. Ciara" (she was speaking to the ship) "take second timetick and store it under OG1 – then go to hover mode - this will probably take a while –" and she pulled the rope from around her neck.

Erik wasn't listening or even noticing – he was too busy observing an interior that rivaled a (small) ballroom in size with large grey rectangles on three sides, two comfortable looking chairs, one of which had a desk sort of thing that she went to and sat behind, multiple panels of blinking lights, and several doors in the rear, the center one being the one they had come through. His hands itched to start taking apart every piece of it all to start seeing how it worked; in fact, they were twitching like a metronome, and not with fatigue any longer.

Tia watched him visually catalog every piece, and probably make a timetable of what he wanted to disassemble first, and realized she'd better do something before her ship was in pieces, so she called up her favorite music video, Beyoncé singing "Learn To Be Lonely", setting the volume as high as she dared, and set it to play on the central screen. The sight of **that** music box – at least 10 times its actual size, stopped Erik in his tracks even before the pictures of Andrew Lloyd Webber playing the piano, or the sound, came up.

As the brief clip played, he was silent and still, even when the "Phantom" in the video flipped his cape and scurried off. He was thinking of what he could do with THAT voice – given the opportunity – and wondering how he could get into the room where the gorgeous Negress was . . . there didn't seem to be a door going that direction._ (A/N: Yes, I know that the modern term is not "Negress", but Erik doesn't – at least – not yet!)_

"Uhm, Erik? Are you in there?" Tia was observing the utterly still figure that had been so animated a moment before, "here, have a seat – "she steered him into the second chair and turned it to face her before he realized he was being maneuvered "and we can talk. Do you want something to eat? Or drink? Or do you want me to replay the video clip? Or would you like to see something else?"

"How is it you know that name?" By now the adrenaline rush was starting to ebb, and Erik just felt tired. But he couldn't sleep, not with someone else in the room – previous experience had taught him **that** lesson before he had turned 10.

Tia looked at him and saw the signs of exhaustion Erik was trying (not very successfully) to mask.

"Look, you're too tired to understand the explanation at this moment even if I told you all of it just now – if I give you a room in this ship with a bed and a door you can lock against me and the rest of the world until you've gotten some sleep, will you take it? I'll even throw in breakfast for free, and I can personally guarantee **no-one** will find you while you are in this ship. I swear on my mission that I WILL give you an explanation once your brain is functional enough again to hear it. Deal?"

Erik sighed. /Should I? She's right that I AM too tired for anything complicated right now - although, with this amount of gadgetry, I can well believe she's not from this time period./ "I - accept, but where is that woman who was singing just now?"

Tia looked amused and sad at the same time. "In another universe in the year 2006, and I'm sorry, but we will not be going there anytime soon. We are the only two people in this ship right now. Come on, I'll give you the guest bed – there's even a small bathroom adjoining it – and a few clothes although I'm not sure if they will fit – if you want to try and wash out that outfit you're wearing, it IS looking more grey than black, or white."

As a bleary-eyed Erik stumbled into a small but adequate bedroom – Tia showed him how to work the lock – and the facilities – and then went to lock down all her equipment against inquisitive fingers – for when Erik woke up.

(_A/N - Yes, I really do love that "Learn to Be Lonely" video - found it on YouTube. Well, what do you think? Is the concept worth pursuing? Please Read And Review )_


	2. Chapter 2 Pulling A Siegfried

**Chapter 2 – Are You Going To Pull A Siegfried?**

_((A/N – I still own only Ciara and Tia) With a Virtual Hug to NewBornPhanatic for my first review.)_

It was a good while before Erik got up – not that he'd slept immediately – he had kept going over all the strange things in the guest room, wishing he had a chisel or something to take them apart with, as well as washing out his suit – which even he had to admit had looked seriously grubby by now, and hanging it to dry with a minimum of wrinkles – dismissing the clothes he found in the drawers – which seemed to be every color but black, white, or grey.

Finally, he felt ready to face this odd girl, with a list of questions, starting with Who are you and WHAT – Exactly – do you want of me? The way she had seemed to see into his mind made him VERY nervous, her casual manner in his presence just baffled him, and what was that bit about her "mission"? Cautiously, he unlocked the door, looking around for her – she was in the main room, in the "desk" chair, bent over the screen, but looked up as he came in, clicking something in her hand that froze the sound of the music he could just barely hear as well as the small screen's picture.

She smiled at him "Good morning, Gr - /STOP that! Get it through your head - this is ERIK,/ "Erik. There is fruit, bread, and cheese on the table" and she gestured towards her left side "feel free to have some and afterwards we can talk."

"We will talk NOW! Who are you, what is your "mission", and HOW do you know my name?!" He'd had enough mystery and spoke in his most intimidating roar, but she seemed completely unphased by his wrath.

She merely sighed. Loudly. And got a small plate and some grapes from the table, a small chunk of soft cheese and a croissant, placing them and a small dull knife on the arm of the unoccupied chair which now seemed to have a small table attached. "Eat. You're much too thin. As to your questions, let's start with your name – I know your name because it's part of the original book."

"WHAT BOOK!?" Erik didn't often bellow, but he was doing it now.

She picked up a small slim volume and tossed it to him. "This book." Then, more softly, as if to herself "and what a phenomenon this little match touched off, over one hundred million people know some version of that story."

He caught it in one hand and jolted at the cover: "Le Phantome de L'Opera – Gaston Leroux" _(A/N: I Know he's a linguist, I just thought he'd be happier reading it in his native French.) _

About an hour and a half (and numerous profane comments – in his own head) - later, Erik slammed the book shut with a loud crack and an exclamation of disgust. "Where can I find this slanderer!?" /and kill him - slowly./

Tia looked at him and seemed to read his thoughts – again – but merely said "You can't get at him. He's in the same universe as those people in the video clip from last night – which is NOT the one we're in. And, anyway, the phenomenon that book caused is now too widespread to just stop – all we can do is try to mitigate the effects, which is, in a nutshell, why I'm here at all. Besides – the REAL problem isn't in THAT Universe – it's in one of the adaptations -" trailing off at the baffled look on his face – she typed something into the keyboard – and the screen lit up with a chart. This started at the bottom of the screen with a picture of the book he was holding – a little way up was a tendril with a picture of a somewhat gruesome face, with the name "Lon Chaney" next to it – Then several more tendrils – each with another name and picture – but about halfway up was a picture of a mask and a red rose with "Andrew Lloyd Webber" next to that – after which there were lines color coded and going off in what seemed every direction a compass could go, like a demented tree. "This is a representation of the timelines we're fighting, and he's both your blessing and your curse, and, in a very real sense, he made you what you are." Tia said, and a red line started circling the name as she worked a gadget in her hand.

"OK, multiverse theory crash course coming up. Every time someone reads, hears, sees, or otherwise encounters a work of fiction, and even if only for the time they are reading it, BELIEVES it, the mental energy of that act gives the story a little more "push" to become real – just NOT in the same universe as the reader. When several million people do the same (and, to be honest, no-one is exactly sure what the critical number of "readers" is) there WILL be a universe to match it. Somewhere. Do you understand that part? As a theory, anyway?"

Slowly, he nodded. "You are saying that this work created a universe, but – that still does not completely explain what you want with me."

"Not A universe – just one would be easy – try several hundred – and it's spreading. As to what I want – I'm trying to prevent THIS –" working her mouse and keyboard – she brought up another brief video clip on the main screen, an all too still Christine lay in his lap as he howled denial to the sky.

"You see, the composer of the most successful version – also wrote that scene as part of his sequel – and – though I will grant you his music is wonderful – frankly, his storyline, not to mention his ending, is HORRIBLE. I plan to make sure that the last part of his "vision" is mitigated, if I can, but – I'm not sure I can do it alone."

Erik was appalled at the vision himself. /THAT is NOT going to happen - not ever - / "If you've got all this equipment – you must have a copy of this work. Show me."

"Clever, Erik. Yes, I have a copy – but I have a feeling you won't much like what you see. Two points – First – this is still only a POTENTIAL future - and – Second - if you pull a Siegfried on me after you see it - I'll push you back out the door and you're on your own!"

"Pull a Siegfried?"

"Sorry, family joke – think about Richard Wagner's hero of the Ring Cycle, just after he's killed the dragon – a little bird tells him his fate and the nitwit goes into an (admittedly lovely) aria about not avoiding his destiny . . . Like it's a wonderful thing to be stabbed in the back at your jealous wife's instigation, instead of doing what any sensible person would do and running the other way."

Erik wasn't really fond of Wagner (few Frenchmen of the day were), but he did know the piece she referred to – and, if you looked at it objectively – she was right – the music was all right – but – who asked for such an outcome?

Tia, meantime, was typing on her keyboard, muttering to herself, "Love Never Dies (Australian Version) coming up. Well, at least you'll know some of what NOT to do . . . Ah, Subtitles, Do you wish to read the text as well as watch it? Also, the work is performed in English, but we have the option of the text being in French or English or Spanish, or not there at all, pick one . . ." she raised her head and looked a question at him.

Erik thought for a second then shrugged – "French, I think. While I admit I'd like to see just how this gadget of yours works, I **need** to see what would lead to the picture you showed me coming to be."

Tia breathed in – and nodded, clicking the "play" button, "I can pause the story, if necessary, or repeat a section, if you need me to."

_Well, at least he seems to be coming around - now Tia has to get him to agree to move - and I don't think THAT will be as easy . . . _

_Please Read And Review - we've a ways to go yet . . ._


	3. Chapter 3 Details, Details

**Chapter 3 – Details, Details**

_((I still own only Tia and her Tardis, Ciara) The rest is not mine, but ooh. If only it were . . . Sigh.)_

_(And for those of you who want to know, hoi polloi is a Greek expression meaning (more or less) the common people, with the implication that they're vulgar, uneducated, and probably unwashed, too. Also, if you analyze the lines Raoul uses in the second "Notes", you notice at LEAST three gambling references in the space of 5 minutes . . .)_

Erik watched the first scene playing out without a word – he'd been in creative funks before and could recognize his own behavior pattern in them - but nearly dropped his jaw at the scene with Meg Giry and her mother discussing Christine. He KNEW Madame Giry's fondness for Christine, she'd practically boxed his ears about it not more than six months ago – yet this Madame's depiction was so - cold toward the girl she thought of as another child. - And the alterations in his rival genuinely amazed him- /A gambler he always was, but a drunk?/ But the biggest shock was the child. /A son? But - look at the way Christine dotes on him, he must be Raoul's./ Dizzy with his thoughts, he asked Tia "You said you could pause the action - I need a moment to absorb all this."

Tia nodded – freezing the scene just as Christine told her son "I'll be in in a minute . . ."

Then Tia looked at him – and said – "You look like you could use a good stiff drink – I don't keep much alcohol here, but I do have a bottle of brandy I keep for when my grandfather comes to visit – would you like some?"

He didn't often drink, but right now, that sounded good to him. Erik nodded his thanks as she poured two fingers into a snifter she kept in a low cupboard along with a half-full bottle. Bringing it over, she said "Will you please eat something if you're going to drink that – or you will soon be drunk as a skunk, and, while this ship will keep the mob away for a time, I'm hoping we can salvage at least some portions of your lair before the hoi polloi wrecks it all – and we need to get out of here soon."

"And where did you have in mind to go?"

Tia took a deep breath and marshaled the arguments she'd been rehearsing in her head for a VERY long time /and let's hope I don't blow it – ALL my hopes, and my father's, and my grandfather's depend on my getting this right -/ "Look, my ultimate goal is to have you and Christine together permanently, but BOTH of you have to co-operate to get that to successfully work. It is no longer a matter of just keeping her with you until she comes around – and let me give you some advice from a female viewpoint, with a child involved, even if you love someone, you need **at least **three more things to present yourself as a viable alternative to the Worthless Lump, er, to Raoul.

First, you need to be financially stable, or better yet – richer than he is, so that the child will not suffer material hardship.

Second, you need to be able to relate to the child, potentially, at least, with affection. That shouldn't be a problem," Tia grinned an "I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know" grin, and said "In fact, I'll make you a wager – spend 10 minutes observing him, without Christine or Raoul present, and, I'll bet you a thousand francs that you'll find that affection coming naturally."

"And Third?"

"The third one's the trickiest, she by now has sworn an oath to honor Raoul – and the only way she comes out of this relatively emotionally unscathed is if Raoul breaks the Marital Oath FIRST, which means we can do nothing for her except observe" /which I have already arranged for/ "until Raoul actually DOES start deteriorating to the point where he gambles the estate right out from under them, and then –well, not to put too fine a point on it – but – a Bill of Divorcement just doesn't happen on this Eurocentric, Nobility-Obsessed side of the Atlantic without the child going pretty much automatically to the father – and that **I** will not stand for in this case – we'd do a lot better in America – where the mother generally IS awarded custody rights."

"I noticed that all of this was taking place on Coney Island – would not going there just be asking for trouble?"

Tia looked a bit uncomfortable, but countered – "Change the foundation, and you change the shape of the house. It has the most financial potential, plus, the sooner we get you OUT of this Overly-Perfectionistic culture, the better off you'll be. If, instead of you, Meg, and Madame going over on a little cockleshell of a boat, with no money and no prospects, I give you a lift, and enough of a grubstake to get you started, and work out the financial picture so that it runs smoother than your Avatar" and she gestured at the screen " had it go for him," /which also means Madame will not need to inveigle Meg into playing "Happy Hooker"/, "with luck and foresight we can make it all work. Not that it's going to be EASY, but, it should be doable."

"IF I agree, I want the answer to one question on your part, no prevaricating – WHAT do **YOU **get out of this?'

Tia looked as though he'd slapped her, but said, "I once promised my grandfather that I would not –Ever – lie" /especially to you, er, to HIM. Avoid, evade, be silent, be somewhere else, but not LIE./ "What I get out of all this, IF I can pull this off, is my father's and grandfather's happiness, and THAT will make ME happy."

"And who are your father and grandfather?"

"That, I will not tell you" /Yet, anyway/, "but I will assure you, you have never been introduced to either one. I will also assure you that there is not one drop of DeChagney blood in me, if that is your concern. I said when we met that I am not your enemy. I will be your ally" /DON'T use the word friend, he doesn't get the concept yet-/ "for as long as this takes - and, if this will sweeten the deal, the disc you are seeing is not the only one I have, I have many dozens of my era's best musical as well as dramatic works, enough to give you a show or a concert every week. Granted, it isn't opera, and they're mostly all in English, but, there are some very beautiful melodies and stories that I can share with you. Do we have a deal?" /Please, please, agree - PLEASE./

Erik frowned, he didn't like the way she flat out refused to tell him about her family, but . . . he would risk anything, go anywhere, if it meant his Christine, willingly back with him. If what drove Tia was something like what drove him - "Let's see the rest of this tale, but, I will consider the possibility."

Tia grumbled a little, but clicked "play", and the doors, tinged in blue light, on screen flew open.

_And on we go, my favorite scene is next. But we haven't got out of France yet, much less built Phantasma . . . _


	4. Chapter 4 Wonders And Astonishments

**Chapter 4 – Wonders And Astonishments**

_((I still own only Tia and her Tardis, Ciara) I can only dream about the rest.)_

_(A/N – For those of you unfamiliar with a TARDIS – one of its modes is to "hover" just outside the timeline in question, so that outside the ship, no time is passing. Tia is just getting antsy about leaving -)_

Tia was actually looking forward to (most of) this scene /At first we have her furious – and rightly – what should have been the best night of her life and HE turns it into a Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am – if only the time stream wasn't impassable to me right there, NONE of the rest of this would be needed – ah, but then we have what has got to one of the top 5 most sexy duets in history -/

Erik was slowly going red, watching in fascination as the Christine onscreen avoided saying a word by fainting, then woke up a snarling virago – totally unlike anything he'd ever experienced with her. /What happens to my sweet Christine to turn her into THIS?/ Then he relaxed as the Erik onscreen began to sing, and she began to melt into his hands /That's more like the Christine I know - /

Eric sat watching in amazement as "Dear Old Friends" played out – but couldn't suppress a wince at Mme. Giry's snide "Unless she knew" and the look that flashed onto Raoul's face – he had seen such a look on another face, once, long ago and it gave him an insight into this 10-years-on Christine that was tinged in red – NOT what he had been hoping for when he'd let her go - and Raoul's faintly sinister "I'll deal with you later" comment just confirmed it. He looked at Tia – who clicked to pause the action and looked at him somberly, and then sighed.

"It's not – quite – that bad –" /And I still have to set up a couple of monitors to keep an eye on the situation, but we'll get to that later-/ "and remember – NONE of this is fixed in stone – the future is a changeable thing – or I would not be here. He" Tia's hand went to the screen "IS NOT you, and may never BE you – and the same holds true for every person involved. However, you'd best sit back down for the next scene" (he didn't even realize, until she mentioned it, that he was pacing the floor,) "because the next "revelation" IS already a What-Is rather than a What-May-Be. "

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, here's the real reason she married an Unmusical, Dictatorial, Eurocentric Idiot – you left her no other viable option." And Tia played out the scene where the onscreen Phantom puts 2 and 2 together – and comes up with – Gustave.

She just looked at him. /If your avatar got knocked to his knees, what will this shock do to YOU?/ She was quite prepared for blustering, denial, or any of a number of reactions. What Tia got was a grimace of pain as he fell back into the chair.

/Even with the best of intentions, I can't seem to do ANYTHING right where Christine is concerned,/ Erik mourned in silence. /Love, forgive me, I really thought I was doing the best thing for you . . ./

At length, they came to the closing scene. By now, the repeated shocks had left Erik feeling like the mob HAD caught up with him, and then proceeded to run him over – several times. He turned to Tia, emotionally drained, and gathered the remnants of his dignity back about himself. "And THIS is what you want to change?"

"Want is too mild a word – I have to change it, or I won't be able to live with the chaos this leaves my timeline in." She meant every word, he could read that much of her.

"I repeat my earlier question, Why? You are not present in any of this, it is not of YOUR making . . . . WHY do YOU feel it is your task?"

/Nag, Nag, Nag, Same as ever. You certainly won't mellow much with age - / "No, I made none of this, but, I am - "

"WHAT!? What is your connection? And do not tell me there is none, you know much too much to be a stranger. "

Tia sighed, bit her lip, and nodded. "You are correct, although I had hoped not to admit to this, I see you won't budge until you know, so, I am/will be (there are no satisfactory verb tenses in time travel) Gustave's youngest daughter. So, my dear grandfather-to-be, (and I'm NOT going to tell you how many years it will be before I get born in this timeline), can we please get out of here soon and start to get the family fortune, (not to mention the family home) built?"

"You said I didn't know your family!"

"No, I said you hadn't been INTRODUCED. It's not the same thing. Now, what are we moving into my TARDIS, and are we bringing Meg and Madame with us, or are they following after? Or, for that matter, coming at all? Do you think you can fit the pipe organ through the door, and is it in good enough repair to take? How about your wardrobe? The swan bed? Your cash stash? Certainly the Stradivarius. What are we taking, because I can't move this ship too many times in rapid succession, so when we leave, WE LEAVE! Don't just stand there, start making a list of what you're going to pack!"

Erik stared at her sudden burst of energy. /**My** - Family? She's doing all this - for her grandfather, is what she said. If Gustave is my child, then - / He pulled himself from his musings, noticing her exasperated expression.

"Grandfather – Wait, you aren't that, yet, we'd better stick to Erik, I guess, come on – we've got tons to accomplish and not a lot of time to do it all. Can we please get started, already!?"

_(A/N: Hooray, we're off – I was beginning to think the man would quibble and delay for another two or three chapters yet – now things can actually get moving -)_


	5. Chapter 5 Goodbye to Paris

**Chapter 5 – Goodbye to Paris**

About three hours later, Erik was glumly calculating the height of his wardrobe (and marveling at just how BIG this ship of hers could be), contemplating if it would be better to push it through like it was, (a daunting task even for HIS muscles), or unpack it and leave the thing empty when he heard the sounds that told him someone was coming. Tia was inside her ship, so it was as if he were alone –

He was wondering what to do when Mme. Giry appeared, a worried frown on her face, Erik was startled, she rarely came closer than the other shore of the lake – and she had always respected this room as HIS, but decided to let it go, for now. "What is it NOW, Madame?"

"You have to get out of here, and quickly, the two idiots (her private term for the Fermin & Andre management team) think they have a perfect scheme – Tomorrow they are going to use bloodhounds to track you – and THEN what shall we do?"

Before Erik could respond, Tia came out. While she certainly had no love for the Madame Giry of her timeline, the greedy instigator of so much loss, she kept reminding herself that this Antoinette Giry was not that person, any more than Erik WAS her grandfather, **yet**. "What we do, Madame, is make like a shepherd and get the flock out of here, tonight. Erik, I think we'd best leave the lady behind for now, and send for her once you have the new place established, if she chooses to come – I have –"

She trailed off at the expression on Madame's face – stunned didn't begin to describe it. /Who is this girl? Not one of my Corps De Ballet – and she's calling him Erik, as casual around HIM as if she's known him for years . . ./

Tia swallowed and said, in as formal a tone as she could manage "I'm sorry, Madame, That was rather rude on my part, but, as you pointed out, we have little time to waste. My name is Tia, and I pledge, that I can get him safe away out of France without anyone so much as seeing us leave. He was just finishing deciding what to take with us to . . . "

"Where will you go?"

"America – New York State, and various locations there. And once he gets set up, if you choose, you may come over, also, I can make sure you have the fare, although, you may want to wait until Meg meets the Baron who will eventually marry her, Oops – I should KNOW better than to give out future data that way!" Actually, Tia KNEW EXACTLY what she was doing – keep Meg out of America, and that whole last, ghastly scene never occurs – not that there weren't a dozen or more OTHER endings to watch for.

"My Meg, a Baroness? Child, you are dreaming."

Erik watched in astonishment as the amusing, faintly witty, energetic child dropped away from the girl's attitude. Suddenly, she projected an air of one who has seen it all, and was surprised by nothing. Madame had seen that look before, but only on Erik's face. /With that look, one could command an army effortlessly./

Tia regarded the older woman through this veil of attitude that made even the redoubtable Madame Antoinette Giry feel like a foolish child again. When she spoke, there was an Ice-Rimed Tinge that hovered in the air. "I am **much** older than I look, Madame. I have been working on this project for over 20 years of your time already, and, I have not been a child for a great many years longer than that. Now Meg may choose to stay with Baron Castelot-Barbezac, or to go with you, or to go off on her own, that is her affair and yours, but I know what the future will hold for her if you both come along now, and I give you this one chance to choose a better path – but do not ever infer that I am a silly child again. I repeat, come with us now, or stay and await events, but make your decision quickly, for in precisely three hours, we will be gone from here, untraceable, and on Coney Island in America."

Madame looked at this Not-A-Child girl, and some part of her knew that this woman COULD read the future, and fought the urge to curtsey, then she gulped and said, "I will stay until you send word. My Meg still needs me."

Privately, Tia doubted that last, but nodded, and pulled a satin pouch from her pocket. "This should keep you both until then, provided you don't go wild with it." It was gold coins of several currencies, enough, Madame knew, to last at least three years (or more.)

Madame Giry looked at the man she both loved as a son, and feared for his temper. "Good luck, and Godspeed, Erik. Please let me know when you are safe."

About two hours later – with Erik physically and emotionally wrung out (packing can be exhausting even at the best of times, which this definitely was NOT), and back in the spare bedroom looking forward to a hot bath, Tia carefully took stock of the – now mostly empty – lair – and reached into her pocket to start the one thing she had left to do on this continent. Going back into her TARDIS, she extracted the one long red-brown hair she'd found on the brush in Christine's room, carefully programming what looked like a small insect, but was actually nothing of the sort. Finally, it was done. /This bug is my check on Christine's well-being, it is programmed to follow her (discretely), maintain a watch on her physical health, and monitor and record for potential playback any scenes of violence between her and Raoul, though I don't expect that to happen for a few years yet. And once he ditches the estate . . . the bug will set off a signal for Ciara to play me my key tune, and then we can move in./ She released the "bug" into the lair. It could find it's own way, now that it had a DNA sample.

Tia went to the main control room, and carefully set the controls, resetting time and place, as well as releasing the camouflage switch to do its' thing, then went to bed herself. /Tomorrow, we'll get the properties purchased, and then stop in at Wardenclyffe . . ./

_And then, on to building Phantasma - without Erik needing to go back into durance VERY vile first. Please Read And Review._


	6. Chapter 6 There's A Place For Us

**Chapter 6: Chapter 6 There's A Place For Us**

* * *

_(A/N- Quod Erat Demonstrontum, usually shortened to QED, is a Latin term meaning roughly, thus is it proven. Tia grew up in a multi-lingual household, we'd probably use something like, "so, there" today.)(And I still only own Tia and her Tardis (and Marvin & Mr. Toomey), and ALW & Leroux, and a bunch of other people own everyone else.) _

At the break of day, Tia woke and started her morning routine. First, she unfolded and read a folded paper that she kept in a drawer by her bed – not that she hadn't memorized the contents years ago, but as part of her daily recommitment to her goal – then she dressed in the outfit she had laid out the night before, and put certain careful cosmetic tweaks to her face. At the end of her efforts, she looked like a young man of perhaps 23 or 24. Nodding at her reflection, she picked up a large and rather heavy satchel and left for the auxiliary control room to meet Erik, and lay out her plans for the day, and see if he wanted to be part of them, or if he would rather stay in the ship for now.

"Good morning, Erik."

He scowled at her as he took in the clothing she wore. "You look like a fop."

She sighed, "I know, but – I'm going to the land office to purchase the property we're going to need, and in this overly-chauvinistic time period, they won't sell to a female, which is rather stupid, but . . . " then she sighed again "sorry, personal pet peeve of mine – sometimes I miss my own era a great deal."

"Which is when, again?"

"Nice try, but no, I'm not saying – I'm breaking enough of the time-travelers rules as it is, I'm not compounding the eventual price I'll have to pay."

"What – price? Again, why are you doing all this? It cannot all be for me . . . ."

"No? Why can it not?" /There's that damned inferiority complex rearing its ugly head again – and just when things were going so well –/ "You may not yet be able to believe this, but I'm doing all this" /and the setup for it took 20 plus years of scouring underwater abandoned wrecks to get the gold to finance "all this"/ "for two men, one of whom is you, the other is . . . for my father, for Gustave. You SAW the video, I want my grandmother back, Gustave wants his mother, and even if you did not want Christine back as much as we do, I'm NOT going to let Webber win this one. Quod erat demonstrantum, Grandfather, now, lead, follow, or get out of my way, because I WILL get this done, even if I have to drag you over every step of the path." That Empress Of All She Surveys tone accompanied every word. "I am going out to buy land, and quite a lot of it – your choices are, come with me, stay here in a locked-down ship, or stay and start designing carnival attractions, because we are going into the carnival business, it's the fastest way to get the environment we're going to eventually need. And use metal and brick, and inflammable materials when designing, fires are still pretty common around here. Or you can start designing a house to hold a family of 6 or 7 individuals, plus appropriate servants, but for that you'd probably need to walk the grounds first . . . Choose, because I need to get started, town's a rather substantial hike away from here."

"But, the mask . . ."

Tia made a rude noise, "Pffft. That's no big problem in this country, just say you were wounded in the war, and you don't want to talk about it. So, coming? Or staying? Choose."

"I . . . Coming." /How quickly she dismisses what has haunted all my days . . . What will she do next?/

About two hours later, they were at the land office, which was just opening up its doors for business. Tia marched in as though she owned the place, Erik following silently after, as Tia went straight to a bored looking clerk in a cage-looking structure, and said "I'm looking for two land parcels, the first is Brooklyn, Coney Island, Zoned Commercial, the largest contiguous piece available with beachfront access. What is available, and how much is the current asking price?"

By the end of this question, the clerk had lost his bored look, and was flipping industriously through a large book of platte maps, coming up with a stretch of land about ½ a mile by 1 ½ miles in size, "but there's nothing much on it but ashes and wreckage, there was a fire . . ."

Tia cut the clerk off with "about a year or so ago, that's fine, and the asking price?"

The clerk gulped but named a figure, and Tia proceeded to heft the bag to the table and start counting out Ten Dollar Gold Pieces until she'd reached the asking price ($3000). "You can clerk and register the deed today, I presume?" She did not take the bag from the table, but did frown slightly. "And who will witness the transaction?"

The clerk jolted from contemplating all that gold, "Oh, of course, sir, right away, I . . .I'll just get my manager . . . Mr. Toomey, can you come here a moment, please. . . . we need to prepare a deed – "

"Eventually two deeds, but one at a time . . . " Tia chimed in.

"Right, right," said the clerk, whose name was Marvin, but since he's only in this scene, I suppose it doesn't matter much, except to him.

Eventually, Erik and Tia left the office – with a much lighter satchel, and two deeds in hand. She handed the deeds to Erik. "Here, we've got the easy part done, from now on, it's going to take WORK, so don't feel like I'm gifting you."

"Work how?" Erik was still a little dazed by the fact that the one time his mask had come up in conversation, Tia had used, verbatim, the line she had told him to say, and the clerk had merely nodded, grimaced at the thought, and gone on drafting up a land-deed.

"Well, you're the architect, not me. I simply know we'll need a clean-up crew as well as skilled masons, not to mention blueprints and building supplies," and she turned into a drygoods and paper supply store to get some blueprint paper and a pen and ink supply. As she entered the doorway, she muttered, "We're going to need a horse soon just to schlep all these supplies home. . . and maybe a bicycle to go with the horse . . . ."

_Step by step, brick by brick, we WILL build Phantasma – and we should check on Christine soon, don't you think? Or is it too soon? Any opinions? Comments? Screams of pain, or of boredom? Feedback, I live for feedback. . . ._


	7. Chapter 7 Two Wild And Crazy Guys

**Chapter 7 – Two Wild And Crazy Guys**

_(A/N – I own Tia and her Ship, Ciara – and NOBODY ever owned Nikola Tesla, although I will admit I sped up his personal timeline a little – he actually didn't settle in New York state permanently (although he was there at times) until about 1900, so the history buffs can stop with the catcalls. As to everyone else, Nope, sorry, not my property, and if an auction _ever did_ came up – I'd probably be outbid in the first round (sigh.))_

About two weeks later, Erik and Tia went to a building/laboratory on Long Island. Tia wouldn't say much about this visit except "You need to meet him, and hopefully develop a working relationship with him, but he's a little quirky, so don't wear the pearl cufflinks, he's got this THING about spherical objects . , . and don't offer to shake hands or touch him unless he specifically asks."

"Who is this person, anyway?" By now, Erik had found that unless he had an INFORMED opinion on something, don't bother objecting – Tia ran right over any objections unless he had a good reason for them, and he was, truth to tell, rather enjoying the novelty of intelligent company (as well as the debates.)

"His name is Nikola Tesla, and he is to Electricity what you are to Architecture and Music, specifically, the man is an intuitive genius. We need his electrical expertise, and he needs someone who knows how to handle the creative outflow, and he could use your architectural knowledge, too. One of his more unfortunate habits is that he rarely stops long enough to write half of his ideas down . . . /or get them patented, which would keep him in the funds he'll need in about 15 years./

"And why do we need electricity? Would not gaslight do as well?"

Tia gave him a look that rivaled Madame Giry with a stubborn student, then took a deep breath and said "First, for the lighting, Second, to power the rides at your new amusement park, and Third, because, PROPERLY done, it will keep the fire hazard minimal. There are more reasons, but three is enough to be going on with. Now come on or we'll be late." And she reached for the door knocker.

The door soon opened to reveal a tall, thin man with a luxuriant moustache.

"Good day to you, sir. It is truly an honor to meet you," said Tia, and curtsied VERY low. "My name is Tia, and this is Monsieur Y. We have a business proposition we wish to negotiate with you."

The inventor looked them over, Erik bowed, not as low as Tia, but, remembering what she had said on the way over, did not extend a hand. Tesla brooded over them, then turned to Erik, asking (in French) "And what will you offer me?"

Tia spoke up "We are designing an Amusement Park on Coney Island. We wish to heavily incorporate your designs, to make it a City of Light and of Wonders . . . Besides giving you full credit for your work, we would be prepared to give you 15 percent of the profits, for the next 15 years. An inventor always needs a steady cash flow . . . . And I would be willing to take any inventions you might create, or that you both together might create, since Mr. Y is almost as good at Mechanical and Mirror inventions as you are with Electrical ones, to the patent office for you, saving you the legwork. If you have other terms, we can discuss it."

Tesla brooded a moment more, then said "Mechanical and Mirror inventions, hmmmm – can you give me an example?"

Erik looked startled, but Tia just grinned and opened the satchel she was carrying.

"He did this mirror box before he'd turned 13", and she proffered a small six sided box that had been an early experiment of his, holding it out on both palms. "Turn this, and it looks as if the horse is running"_. (A/N – OK, I admit it, I stole that box from Theodora Bruns' Through Phantom Eyes, Volume 1 – A Child's Guidance)_ She held it out as though as an offering to a deity, as a great and wondrous treasure. "Most of his later work is too large to be portable . . . "And she looked as proud as any mother showing off her new baby, which just about floored Erik, though he was careful not to let it show.

After some negotiations (they'd settled on 18 percent of the gate fees for 13 years from the opening day) "Which should take between a year and a year and a half" Tia pulled out four copies of a legal partnership agreement – and a down payment of 15 more gold pieces – and had both men sign and date each one.

Erik protested. "Why four?" but Tia was unruffled.

"One for each of us, and one to go on file with the Civil courts, I need to find a good judge for later. No, Mr. Tesla, nothing to do with you, a matter of family law."

Tesla's protest was "We have a gentlemen's agreement, are contracts necessary?"

"Perhaps not, in this instance, but this protects us both. Mr. Tesla, you cannot always tell, few rich men will honor an unwritten contract unless there are unimpeachable witnesses to it. Remember that in future and many hard feelings will be avoided."

As they were leaving, Erik noticed what looked like a dragonfly, which dived and nestled onto Tia's shoulder, in her cloak. Before he could do anything about it, the coach started up, but not before he heard, almost inaudible, music coming from the bug. "I dreamed a dream in time gone by . . . "

Tia went pale, and cursed for the first time since he'd known her. Then she sighed – and spoke aloud – "Ciara, record for later playback – we won't be back to the ship for at least an hour."

The insect hovered, and then flew out the window of the coach.

Erik frowned. "That was a signal, was it not? Of what?"

Tia squirmed on the seat. "I – don't think you really want to know . . . " /Devil take it, they haven't even been married a whole month, and he must have already hit her, or the bug would not have alerted me . . . / "It's too soon," she muttered to herself.

"Too soon for WHAT?!" Erik's voice, and temper were clearly rising with every word.

"Uhm, please, can you please lower your voice until we're out of the coach? All New York does not need to know our business!"

Erik just growled, obviously fuming.

_(A/N – Warning – the next chapter is where I start to earn my T+ rating, and it will even start inching towards M – so Don't say I didn't prepare you!)_


	8. Chapter 8 In A Gilded Cage

**Chapter 8 – In A Gilded Cage**

_(A/N – I did my best, but – Spousal Abuse just ISN'T a teen subject, so, M from now on, folks.)_

Once they had paid off the driver, and dismissed the (rented) carriage, Tia practically flew to the door of what looked like a small log cabin (it was really Ciara in disguise) with Erik following after, as fast as he could run. She threw open the door, slammed it after them, and pelted for her chair. Erik didn't bother to sit, but started pacing menacingly around her.

"Alright," he growled, sounding more like an out-of-temper grizzly than his usual suave tones, "we're private, now explain!"

"I set up a monitor on the bedroom balcony door of the Vicomtesse's suite on the De Chagney estate, and have been having Ciara watch for any signs of deterioration on Raoul's part. I just didn't think it would start this soon . . . "

"You are leaving it to an inanimate object to watch over my Christine!?" Erik was incensed.

An unfamiliar alto voice boomed out at him – "That's the last drop of hot water YOU get until you apologize! Sorry, Tia, I know you were trying to have me be discreet, but . . . ."

"Ciara, please, this is hard enough . . . can we introduce you and Erik later?"

"You said we were alone on this ship!"

"Erik, what I said is that we were the only two people on this ship. Ciara is not a people, at least, not until this mission is over – that's her price for helping me. What she is now is called an Artificial Intelligence or AI for short, and while she has all the intelligence and self-awareness of a person, she does not – yet – have any flesh and blood components. Her "body" is this ship, and she exists only here and in whatever parts of herself she sends out, like the dragonfly you saw. And speaking of the dragonfly – the message is bad – Ciara, can you do a brief synopsis of the latest recording?"

"Sure," said the disembodied alto, "In a nutshell, he's just told her that Meg and Madame Giry are not fit company for a Vicomtesse."

"Ouch" said Tia, "Erik, are you sure you want to watch this, because it won't be pleasant . . . "

Erik looked grim, but did not budge – and the main screen suddenly showed a large and sumptuous bed with dark curtains, in an ornate and heavily gilded room. As they watched, the door opened, and Christine came in, followed by Raoul. She was elegantly dressed, but seemed tired. He was . . . irked.

"Christine, what were you thinking? You need to learn how to act as Vicomtesse, not some uncultured back-country peasant girl!"

Christine winced at the description. "Raoul, all I know is the theatre; I don't know how to act around these high-class friends of yours. And, when you look at my background, I AM a peasant; there is no noble blood in me. I am trying to learn, but no one seems willing to teach me how to do this!" She looked wistful. "If they acted like Meg does, or even Madame Giry, I would know what to do . . . "

"Oh, yes, that reminds me, you should not go near the people from the theatre again."

"What? But Raoul, those people are my friends! Madame Giry raised me after father died! I can't just act like they don't exist! And what about my career, I am a Diva, I should be singing!"

"You don't need a mother anymore, you have a husband, ballerinas and singers are too common for a Vicomtesse to be associating with, and as for your career, I will support you, there's no need to WORK." His tone made it sound as though working was one of the seven mortal sins.

"Too common? Is that what you think of me? I am common? And singing is not work, it is part of me! I can't just stop!"

"Don't be silly, you are my wife, that makes you special, not common. And you will "just stop", because I say so, and I know what is best for you."

"I will not give up all contact with my friends."

"And I say you will!" And with that, Raoul backhanded Christine. The force of the blow landed her onto the bed, and he followed through with the swing, which had him falling more or less atop her, which made his rage start to mutate into lust . . . .

In the ship, Tia grimaced and said "End and save full recording as RC1 into new folder GRD – RC, We'll use those once we find an open-minded civil judge, but I don't think I can watch any more of this right now. Since that all took place an hour ago, current reading on her vital stats, with particular emphasis on her abdominal area . . ."

"Easy, boss, I know what you're really asking. Vitals are stable, although she's bruised and sore, Gustave seems unaffected. It's just her emotional state . . . ."

"I'll bet – well, that settles it. We need to get to working faster; she's going to need an address change LONG before her Avatar did. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to go hire temp workers to start clearing debris, so that we can get into building that much sooner. Erik, do you have the first of the blueprints ready to . . . "She trailed off, looking at him. He was past fury, and into almost weeping. "Oops. Tomorrow will be here soon enough, now let's see what we can do for you, since we can't do anything for Christine at the moment." /And if you'd listened to me, you wouldn't have had to see it at all./

He glared up through watery eyes. "You expect me to just forget what I saw?"

"Forget? No. Store it until it can be used, perhaps, but not forget."

_(A/N – Well, I tried. I give you fair warning, it WILL get worse before Raoul finally gets his . . . . and Christine needs to grow a spine before I think she and Erik are truly compatible. Please Read And Review)_


	9. Chapter 9 A Few Good Men and Women

**Chapter 9 - A Few Good Men (And Women)**

The next morning dawned with Tia a little bleary from lack of sleep (between calming Erik and having visions of the previous day, she had had little but nightmares, when she had slept) but she was determined to further her mission as fast as she could. Leaving Erik feverishly drafting plans for a dream house for his Christine, she took several sheets of paper, already inscribed, and another (smaller) satchel, and again dressed in male garb, she left for town.

Once she got there, she headed specifically for the part of town where the outcasts, and the freaks, and those who did not fit into normal society, tended to congregate. Finding a large crowd looking at this stranger in their midst, she nodded politely at the gawkers, but continued on until she reached a central gathering spot – where there was a message board set up, with some tattered messages sharing space. Here Tia stopped, rearranged the current messages to give her some room, and then tacked up the message she had painstakingly written out over the course of a mostly sleepless night. Then she nodded again, and left, heading towards the "normal" side of town.

As she left, the more literate of the crowd read out the message for their less educated friends:

We're looking for anyone who is willing to give a full day's work effort for a full day's pay (rates to start at $1.25 per day and go up depending on the specific task(s) performed each day,) starting tomorrow, April 4, 1895. Any interested parties (male or female) to inquire at 1111 Surf Avenue – between 9AM and 2PM every day for the next two weeks. There are tasks for all physical types, so come and see if there is one for you. Please note that most of these tasks will last for several months or more, or until the task is completed.

Signed, the Y Management Group.

(Since the average rate, for a male, at that time was $1.53 per day, this was a pretty good wage, especially as a starting salary.) While there was some discussion about this offer possibly being a trick, several of the men pointed out that a job was a job, and they should at least go see if it was for real. In the event, a group of about two dozen (mostly men) would go apply, and if THEY got in, the others would try the next day.

The next morning, promptly at 8:15 Tia but not Erik (Tia had tried to talk him into coming along only to fail, for today, anyway) unlocked the door to 1111 Surf Avenue (one of the few structures left standing in Erik's new land plot) and went in, to rearrange a front parlor into a sort of reception salon.

At 9AM, the first of the hopeful workers appeared on the doorstep. This was a rather burly looking youngish man, with a musculature that spoke of strength, but there was one eyebrow which arched almost into his hairline (if he'd had any hair). Tia grinned to herself, but kept it off her face. /And a good morning to you, Mr. Squelch, hopefully we will get your two buddies in soon, also . . ./

"Good morning, sir." Was what Tia said aloud, noting that the young man straightened up a subtle bit more at the sir, "we are looking for workers, have you come to apply?"

"I have a question first."

Tia nodded. "Very well, ask."

"We watched you, yesterday, the notices you put up were all in the sections where we "different" people live."

Tia nodded. "I certainly tried to do just that."

"Why us?" /If it's just because we're freaks . . . ./

Tia looked at him "You've asked an honest question, I will give you an honest answer," /and your reaction will tell me what kind of man you are inside./ "I am well aware that the different usually are not the first pick of most employers. This makes them value a steady job more than someone who can more easily find another. If I hire the "different" FIRST, the absenteeism rate goes down to those instances where it is genuinely unavoidable, rather than the ones (which I have seen,) where the employee would simply rather be elsewhere. Y Management asks for as close to perfection in a work record as is attainable, but we are prepared to offer compensations as well as employment."

"What sort of compensations?"

"Medical benefits in the event of an accident is one that comes to mind. We are going to be cleaning all this up, then building on the cleared site, there are bound to be a few accidents, no matter how careful people are. I was also thinking of a commissary, with a discount for workers and their families, and part of what I also wish to set up is a day nursery and school for the workers children, a good education can open many doors in this life."

"You would offer this for what cost?"

"As part of the employment contract, although, I will need to find the personnel to set it up, so it would not start immediately, maybe three weeks or so on . . ."

"And what will you be building?"

"Well, the ultimate goal is a new hotel, and an amusement park. We're also going to need workers houses, a hospital, a school, several eating establishments, -"

"A freak show?"

Tia looked at him with a face as set as granite. "I think I know what you are implying. Nothing involuntary, and no cages or other coercion would be used, but yes, there will probably be one of those also. People are still people, and curiosity is a businessperson's friend."

Eventually, Mr. Squelch agreed, and left to spread the word, that his new employer "has the darndest views on people you can imagine, but the offer is for real, go check it out!"

_(A/N- BTW, I didn't feel that the getting of the building permits, and arranging for the ordering of building supplies rated its' own chapter, so just figure that all of that is already done, OK? Meanwhile, we've left Erik and Ciara alone together, and she still hasn't quite forgiven that "inanimate object" line - evil grin.) _


	10. Chapter 10 Talking To The Wall

**Chapter 10 – Talking To The Wall**

Erik knew right when Tia went off for town. "Now maybe I can get some answers . . . ." he said to himself as he entered the Auxiliary Control Room, which had become the main place for the two of them to meet up.

Ciara spoke up, sounding a little reluctant. "If you want answers, you could ask ME, I've been with Tia for literally longer than you've been alive."

Erik managed not to jump in startlement, but it was a near thing. "Very well, let's start with you, what are you exactly, if you are not a person?"

"You might as well sit down for this; I'm going to use the main screen as a visual aid." As she spoke, images illustrating her words flashed onscreen. "What I am is not a concept in use much in this century, but the proper term is AI – or Robot if I'm being mobile. I have just as much intelligence as you, probably more book-learning, definitely as much language skill, but I am not made of flesh. Most of me is made up of what are called rare earths, such as platinum. These are put onto a special kind of "card", which resembles, in miniature, a human brain. Just as with humans, my "thoughts" go through my "brain" with electrical impulses -"

"Electrical? Like Tesla's inventions?"

"Dr. Tesla did not INVENT electricity, nor was he the first to find it, but yes, like that, except it's the difference between a, well, if Tesla is playing a piano, I'm playing a full orchestra – but like a raindrop and a lake, we're both still water. Where Tesla's genius is, is in HARNESSING electricity so that it can be safely used, and later generations will be building off his work a long time from now."

"If you are metal, how can you become human? Magic?"

"An author and scientist who will soon be born into this timeline, Sir Arthur C. Clarke, had this to say about magic and the universe-

1.-When a distinguished but elderly scientist states that something is possible, he is almost certainly right. When he states that something is impossible, he is very probably wrong.

2.-The only way of discovering the limits of the possible is to venture a little way past them into the impossible.

3.-Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.

Magic is just a technology not available to most of this timeline yet, but as I must point out, we're not from this time and place . . ."

Erik's brain latched onto another point "If you're older than I, how old are you? How old is Tia?"

Ciara said, "It's impolite to ask a lady's age, but, I have been awake about 35 or so years, Tia is somewhere in her late 50's."

"50? She looks barely 20!"

"THAT's a VERY long story, but, in summary, while exploring, Tia found a place where old age is a treatable condition. She learned how, and was going to offer it to her family, starting with HER Erik, but . . ."

"Something went wrong?"

"You could say that – she came home, all set to give her family the gift of – well – forever, only to find that, while she was gone, disaster had struck. Time travel has certain rules; she can't just go back and offer -them- a ride forward, so she's doing it this way. Realize, she's sacrificing every memory she has, since by changing the past, none of what she remembers and cherishes will now occur (or at least, not the same way) – but if she gets this right, she will be the only one who knows this. Everyone else affected will have memories that she will not . . . . "

"And she's spent how many years on this already?"

"Somewhere around 26 – you didn't think that all that loot she's using came from nowhere, did you? She's spent quite a bit of time scouring old shipwrecks, and I believe she even managed to get her hands on the royal treasury of King John of England, that was lost in Brittany in 1216."

"And why are you telling all this to me?"

"Because you need to take this seriously, she WILL get this done even if it kills her, and I'm not using that phrase lightly. If the only way to fix this is take the bullet herself, she is quite willing to do precisely that. She is, quite literally, rebuilding her home and her family, so don't just laugh when she gets on a tear. Push back if something doesn't quite feel right, that's fine, but don't stonewall her."

Remembering how she'd already doggedly kept going while he'd been dragging his feet, Erik said, a bit ruefully, "I'm not sure I COULD stonewall her – she's as stubborn as . . . "

"As stubborn as YOU are? The apple sometimes doesn't fall far from the tree."

"What was the disaster?"

Ciara sounded reluctant, for the first time. "Do you really need to know that? It's pretty gruesome . . . and I don't want to put nightmares in your head, there are undoubtedly enough in there already."

Erik had to concede THAT point, but, if this "girl" was in a chatty mood, he was going to get ALL the answers he could. "I have enough nightmares that one more will not be any great burden. What was the disaster?"

Ciara answered, "I won't show you the actual scene, but, when she got home, she found this," the screen lit up again, and there was a note, in his handwriting with small spots of brown the exact shade of dried blood on one edge, and what appeared to be water droplets near the top, blurring the date. It was a suicide note. "and the body."

_(A/N – Well, now we know what's driving Tia, which is reason enough for her to keep going . . . so let's get to building so we can get Christine back, which is why Erik will cooperate. As for Madame Giry, what does anyone else think? I see three possible options 1 - Stay in Europe, with Meg, 2- Come over to America and help Erik, and 3- Find a way past Raoul's ban and be Christine's confidante until Raoul self-destructs. Opinions?)_


	11. Chapter 11 A Beautiful City

**Chapter 11 – A Beautiful City**

It was now mid-July. The site was cleared, the foundations for the Hotel Phantasma were dug – Tia had insisted on using concrete foundations, "so we can build higher," as well as steel beams "we're swiping a page from Daniel Burnam", but had mostly left outer and inner design to Erik's judgment, "providing that you leave room for the wiring Mr. Tesla's lights and such will need".

Erik was concentrating on building, spending two days in succession at Phantasma or at the house site, then switching to the other. Mr. Squelch was his bodyguard (Tia had insisted), while hers was a lady dwarf called Ariel Fleck, who was much more deadly (when provoked) than she appeared. Their second in command for the Phantasma site was a tall young man who called himself Dr. Gangle, who could play the fool with the best of them, but was MUCH smarter than he looked.

And everyone involved with either site, when asked, agreed that while the Y Management Group had some really weird ideas, they were every bit as involved with the project as the workers were, and that they tried to be as fair as possible. And they paid, once a week, like clockwork, in good, solid silver, every Friday at five. Any disputes as to the amount paid per week would be investigated, and, if justified, made up the next week. And the workers houses were going to be lovely, same as the hotel, every modern amenity, running water, heat, large ceiling fans, & electricity . . . what few grumblers there were, (and every project has some) were generally being kept in line by their co-workers.

Tia was being kept busy by the task of hiring skilled labor – Erik may have picked the building staff(s) but Education, Commissary, and Medical concerns all fell to her.

"Women's work." Was her comment to Miss Fleck, to which Ariel just would nod, and smile wryly.

Everything was going well, when, one day about dusk at the house site, Ms. Fleck noticed a large dragonfly hovering next to Tia. She crept closer, only to hear what sounded like snatches of song from the bug. The words sounded like "Another One Bites The Dust." Tia swore, then looked at her, then looked about – it was late enough that no one else was in earshot. "There's no time to explain, but, will you trust me? I will tell you everything before the sun rises tomorrow, but for now, will you trust me and come, no questions?"

Ariel nodded. And Tia ran towards that cabin that was off to one side of the house site, with Ariel right behind her. As soon as they got in the door, there was a grinding noise, but Tia ignored it to snatch a large satchel with a red cross outlined with white, then whirled to run back out the door. They were now suddenly right by the hotel, and Tia ran for the crowd of people, all with their backs to her. She parted them by shoving through, and in the center was Dr. Gangle, one long leg at an awkward angle.

Tia examined the leg just as Erik more or less jumped down from the third floor scaffolding, to crouch beside her. "What is the prognosis?' were his first words to her.

Tia was blunt – "Broken Leg, - simple fracture, put it in a walking cast and he'll be fine in two months, PROVIDING he doesn't try to fly again. Have you got a backup aerialist straw boss, because this one's working on ground level things until then, with two crutches."

Gangle went pale with relief, he had been sure that he was going to be let go on the spot. Tia frowned just slightly, frowning at the group, all of whose faces echoed Gangle's, that she could see. "People, this was covered in the employment contracts every one of you signed, "Y Management will cover the cost of any necessary medical treatment, and in the event of an onsite accident, the injured party will be placed on light duty and given such tasks as they are capable of, until they can return to their regular job." It's on Page 2, Section 3, look it up if you need to. Now, I'll need a few strong arms, and if someone has some brandy, I have to straighten the bone before I set it, and it's going to hurt . . . "

Ariel said nothing as her boss finished patching up Dr. Gangle's leg, and made sure he would get to a place where he could be watched for signs of other injury, then she nodded at Ariel, and gestured back at what appeared to be a crude wooden shed. Waiting until no-one else was looking, she opened the door and gestured Ariel in, to the same room she had gotten the satchel from.

Tia looked exhausted. "Thank you for being patient, and for your silence. Ask what you will, now I have time to answer, and I promise I will not lie to you."

"Are you a witch?"

Tia choked a little, but said, "Not as you understand the term. Can I do things you can't do? Probably. Can I do things you cannot be taught how to do, given the time and the equipment? No. Am I human? Yes, just as much as you are. What I am, is not from this time and place. I have a task to do. Do I mean harm to anyone? The only one who might be in danger is one man who is currently in Europe, or whomever would try to harm the ones I have come to protect."

"And who have you come to protect?"

"The Boss . . . ."

"Mr. Y? Is he like you?"

"No, he's from this time, although he was born in France. But it is he, and his family, whom I protect."

"His family?"

"He has a young son, still in France, and a lady, though she is not yet his wife."

"Does he know who you are?"

"Oh, yes. He knows. Now you do too. Will you give me your word of honor to tell no-one, at least without asking me first?"

"My – word of honor? You treat me like I'm just another human being!"

Tia looked confused. "Why would I treat you any other way?"

"For that alone you would have my word. And my help, should you ever need it."

"Let us see what time brings, I may take you up on that, when Gustave and Christine get here."

"Are those their names? I will remember."

_(So now Ariel knows, and is willing to go along, and in a few months, baby will make three. We will see what blonde Raoul will have to say about brunette Gustave, soon . . . cue ominous background music.)_


	12. Chapter 12 Congratulations, It's A Boy

**Chapter 12 – Congratulations, It's A Boy**

_(A/N – this French holiday (Nouvelle Beaujolais) was not official until 1937 – but I just couldn't resist putting it in. An entire day devoted to drinking? What better holiday for an alcoholic Frenchman to celebrate?)_

It was mid-November, in Paris, and Raoul and Christine were in residence at the town house, rather than at the country estate. Although Christine was not much in public, since the moral code of the time dictated that pregnant women more or less went into seclusion (and NEVER used that word in conversation) once their condition became obvious (provided that their spouse could afford the loss of her income, which was rarely a problem for the nobility), Raoul's elder sister Veronique was married to one of the few French Vintners to escape the plague on the vines currently rampaging most of Europe, and Raoul was in town for the "Nouvelle Beaujolais" festival this coming Thursday. Christine really had no preference as far as location, but had high hopes of contacting Madame Giry, as she really wanted to ask her a few questions . . . .

She had asked Madame DeCroix, (the midwife making daily visits) to deliver a note requesting Madame Giry to come "as my current condition does not lend itself to public view." The midwife, who lived more or less in the same neighborhood, agreed, and was pleasantly surprised that Madame Giry needed no convincing, but was ready, indeed, she seemed eager, to come along the next morning.

Raoul was out for the day when the two Madames arrived at the townhouse, where Christine was elated to see her old friend and occasional mentor. While their conversation was initially a bit awkward, soon Christine was inviting Madame Giry up to her room, "where we can be more comfortable, besides, I should not be standing so much, my back is starting to ache."

Madame DeCroix straightened up at that last. "How long has your back been hurting, child?"

"Off and on, all morning. Why?"

"You could be getting ready to deliver . . . it is just about your due date."

"Now? But I . . .Oh!" And Christine flushed as she felt a rush of liquid start to run down her leg. "I'm sorry," she said weakly as the two more experienced women, recognizing the situation, hustled her upstairs, ringing for a maid after they got Christine to her room, and semi-stripped both the woman and the bed so that a bare Christine lay on the bare sheet.

The upstairs maid appeared, was given instructions regarding getting hot water, and hurried off to tell the household, as well as get a kettle to put onto the bedroom fireplace hearth.

It took a few hours to track down Raoul, since he and Louis de Villeforte (Veronique's husband) were taking full advantage of the new wine. By then, Christine was pushing, sweaty and muttering words under her breath that Madame Giry didn't even know that Christine knew, and since Raoul was as close to drunk as made no difference Madame DeCroix shooed him out of the room with a "This is WOMEN's business. You already did your part, now it's time for your wife to do hers." And she shut the door with him and Louis in the hall.

Louis, more experienced in these matters, said, "Come on, let's go into the library, this will take some time."

"How long?"

"No man knows."

In actual fact, it was 6 more hours before the child took his first breath. Christine, exhausted, looked at the few wisps of ink-dark hair, and the perfect features, and smiled. "Hello, Gustave", she said, cuddling the child to her as the door opened and a still-not-very-sober Raoul more or less staggered into the room, getting over to the bed more by luck than by skill.

"Let me see the boy," Raoul half-growled, still not quite steady on his feet.

Christine extended the (now washed and wrapped) drowsy infant towards her spouse, but kept her one hand under the baby's head, supporting its' weight.

The midwife bustled over to effect the transfer of the infant from one parental set of arms to the other, while Antoinette Giry, (as well as a small bug perched high up out of immediate sight) watched in silence.

Raoul frowned. "His hair is dark! Why is his hair dark?"

The midwife soothed him. "First, I've seen this kind of pre-hair in all sorts of colors, just because it's black today, that doesn't mean that will be the child's real hair color. Second, your wife's hair is dark."

"At least his eyes are blue . . . "

"All babies are born with blue eyes, it usually takes 6 months before the real color shows up, same with his hair," said the midwife, knowingly.

"Hmmph" was Raoul's only reply to that. Then his eyes focused on Madame Giry. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be teaching ballet?"

Madame drew herself up to her not-inconsiderable height. "Monsieur, your wife wished to see me, so I came. Besides, I needed to tell her some news, my Meg is engaged to the Baron Castelot-Barbezac, and wishes Christine for her Matron of Honor."

"Oh," said Raoul, somewhat thickly, "a Baron, well, I guess that's ok . . . I think I need a drink."

All eyes in the room swiveled towards him, and he seemed to feel it, because his tone started getting defensive. "To celebrate, of course."

_(A/N – this chapter was VERY difficult for me,(I had to research pregnancy & childbirth, for one thing,) although writing a character starting with promise and deteriorating was the easy part, I've just been modeling Raoul on my brother-in-law, who is the original worthless lump. Anyway, we'll lighten up a little next, plus Ciara has some ideas she wants to try . . . back to America, we'll come back to Paris for the wedding!)_


	13. Chapter 13 Christine Takes A Stand

**Chapter 13 – Christine Takes A Stand**

_(A/N – Just to clarify, I own Ciara's personality, Tia, a few NPCs here and there, and ALW and Leroux and Kay and . . . well, all the officially published creative types own the rest of the crowd.)_

Tia was presiding over a grand Thanksgiving Day feast in the new Hotel Phantasma dining room, the only place large enough, and with a roof over it, to hold all the workers together, except a few guards that she had stationed, who would be on duty for half the feast, at which point they would switch out with the guards who were currently at the buffet table getting another helping of turkey and ham.

Actually, this feast had more than one purpose, besides being a show of appreciation for getting the hotel built so swiftly, she was auditioning two chefs, (One for the new Hotel, and one for the restaurant on the other end of the grounds.)

Erik had been the host for about an hour, but had gone back to his penthouse (which he was calling the Aerie, since it was ten floors up,) leaving the hostess duties to her (which was a practice all the workers had started to get used to.)

Ciara was under strict instructions not to "disturb anyone unless you truly need to, but,- I trust your judgment. If you can't resolve it, ask and I'll come to you." Ciara was actually feeling pretty good about that "I trust your judgment" part, since Tia had a tendency to micro-manage whenever possible.

Ciara went back to her current (self-appointed) task, while she was monitoring the two building sites through her remote control dragonflies, this was more or less on automatic, unless a certain level of activity started happening. Her main attention was in Paris, (she had one bug each on Christine, on Raoul, on Madame Giry, and on Gustave). Right now, Raoul and Christine were arguing about hiring a wet-nurse for the baby . . . .

"I will not have the Vicomtesse De Chagney acting the part of a . . . a . . .common Cow!" raged Raoul, for what was probably the third or fourth time.

Christine was beginning to regret she'd ever seen Raoul as an adult by this point. "Raoul, really, First it's "You can't sing, or continue a career, because you're a Vicomtesse now." Then It's "You're being too friendly with the wrong people!" Then it's "You're not being friendly enough with the Right people," who are the ones acting like I'm dirt the whole time. I can't direct the servants, because your mother and your sister Yvette are already doing so, I can't read, because that's not what a Vicomtesse does either (according to you and your mother, anyway), and now I can't even tend to my son? Just what AM I SUPPOSED to be doing, anyway? All I seem good for in your mind is looking pretty, doing nothing, and going to bed, which results in children I'M not supposed to raise!"

"You left out loving me . . . ." Raoul said, a little weakly.

Christine just glared at him. "I repeat, WHAT-AM-I-SUPPOSED-TO-BE-DOING? I am not a doll, to sit on a shelf, or lie around a bedroom all day until you come up to bed! I need to have a task, something that is mine to do, something that matters, otherwise, your Vicomtesse might just as well be your whore! Maybe I should pursue THAT career, at least I'd be able to read, which you seem determined to prevent!"

"Christine!" Raoul was beginning to regain his temper, and this came out as a growl more than a word, but Christine went on as though he had not spoken.

"My son and I are going to go visit my friend, the soon-to-be Baroness Castelot-Barbezac, who has already extended an invitation to stay with her until the wedding in three weeks. You can go soak your head until your thinking starts to clear up, and for the love of God, Raoul," (her eyes started to tear up in her distress,) "stop treating me like a live-in strumpet and HELP me become the wife you want! Teach me how to talk to these people, if I'm doing it wrong. And please stop retreating into a bottle, it solves NOTHING, your problems are still there when you get sobered up . . . ." And Christine ran up the stars to pack – as Raoul headed into his study, where the cognac was, and slammed and locked the door. By the time Christine was ready to leave, Raoul had drunk himself into a stupor . . . and could, therefore, not prevent Christine from leaving.

Meg, on the other hand, was delighted to see her dear friend. The two were soon talking, and talking, and TALKING, until Madame Giry gave up trying to get them to go to bed, since it was now "two of the clock, anyone not out carousing is in bed by now . . . . " and went to bed herself, giving Gustave space in an old cradle she had dragged down from upstairs in her attic.

Christine eventually let out what the argument had been about – "Meg, he SAYS he loves me, but it's like the surface is all he sees! From the very beginning, he hasn't really listened to or believed anything I've said" (and her thoughts went back to a snowy roof, where he was ignoring her very real concerns), "I'm beginning to wonder if I've made a horrible mistake . . . "

Meg looked at her gravely, "If you could be anywhere, with anyone, right now, where would you go? The Opera Populaire will never reopen, not without a new patron with LOTS of money –"

"I know – but – Meg, would it sound crazy if I said I wish my Angel of Music weren't dead?"

Meg was shocked. "He's not dead, who told you he was?"

"Raoul said . . . What! He's alive? Then where is he?"

"It's a secret, but . . ."

"MEG! Please! Tell me."

"America – Mother got a note from him a few weeks ago."

"Are you sure she wasn't telling you a story?"

"Yes, ask her yourself, but," as Christine whirled around, "in the morning, all right?"

"Well . . . ."

_(A/N – I know, I promised we'd get back to Phantasma, but Christine kept hounding my brain, and just WOULD NOT shut up – so Phantasma later, Christine now.)_


	14. Chapter 14 Answer To A Prayer

**Chapter 14 – Answer To A Prayer**

_(A/N – As I've already stated, I own Tia and Ciara only. As to the other characters, right now, they seem to own ME, and just at the moment, Christine keeps nagging for HER say in this – OK, already, I'm at the keyboard, now will you PLEASE wait until I finish typing before you jump on my head again . . . ?)_

The next morning, Christine went to Madame Giry. "Please, Madame, can I ask you something?" Her eyes were bright, but intent, her mouth was firm with determination.

"Christine, for someone who got next to no sleep, you look fierce. Go ahead."

"I meant to ask you this back at the Townhouse, but . . . why is it that when Raoul takes me to bed, it always hurts me? It didn't hurt with . . ." /Erik, it felt wonderful./" the first time -"

Madame pursed her lips, able to guess the words unsaid, but spoke truthfully. "Not every man knows how to please a woman, and some refuse to learn how. Many men would never dream that a woman CAN feel pleasure, particularly a wife. The best I can tell you is, try to tell him if something feels good, so that he will keep doing it. And, the more you can relax, the less it will hurt."

"Raoul doesn't listen to me. He acts like he does, but then he just keeps doing what he wants to do anyway." /Which seems to be mostly to drink,/ "And I can't seem to do anything right by his standards . . . .We fought about it yesterday. But, tell me, do you think Erik got away safe? Raoul said they had found his body –"

"He's safe. Don't tell anyone, but he wrote me a letter from America – I got it week before last. He seems to be doing well – " /and the sapphire and emerald gold collar he sent for Meg as a wedding present looks like something a queen might wear, but let's save that for a surprise for Meg./

"What is he doing in America? And can I get the address, I would like to write to him myself. I promise not to let Raoul know."

"I'm not sure you can prevent it, all the servants report to Raoul, and they'll notice a letter with an American address – no, wait, I have an idea. Any letters will go through Meg or me first, they know you two are friends, no-one will be surprised if you write to US. As to what he's doing, I think he's building something, but he didn't say much about that."

Christine subsided, determined to write a letter to Erik before the day was ended. /Thank God, he's alive! He never would have been in danger if it hadn't been for me . . ./

As Christine struggled over how to start a letter /My Angel? Beloved Mentor? Dear Phantom? What do I CALL you, now? . . . ./, Madame Giry went to tend to their other guest, who was fretting, if softly, in his borrowed crib.

As she changed the baby, Madame noticed a look of concentration on the little face that she had only ever seen on one man, and nearly dropped the baby in her astonishment. /Oh, Mon Dieu, Christine, what a mess you've made of all this. Raoul never sired THIS child . . ./ "Shhh, little one, all will be well –" then she started singing, softly, an old lullaby that an Irishwoman she had known had taught her years ago

1. Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee

All through the night

Guardian angels God will send thee

All through the night

Soft the drowsy hours are creeping

Hill and dale in slumber sleeping

I my loving vigil keeping

All through the night

2. While the moon her watch is keeping

All through the night

While the weary world is sleeping

All through the night

O'er thy spirit gently stealing

Visions of delight revealing

Breathes a pure and holy feeling

All through the night

3. Though I roam a minstrel lonely

All through the night

My true harp shall praise sing only

All through the night

Love's young dream, alas, is over

Yet my strains of love shall hover

Near the presence of my lover

All through the night

_(A/N – This was the lullaby my mom used to sing to me, and I've always loved it – although when you think about it – verse 3 is pretty appropriate to the current story )_

The child quieted immediately in the presence of music. /Just like your father, you are./ thought Madame, with a wry smile. /Now, how do we get you and your mother back to your real father? CAN we get you both to him, or is it too late, short of murdering a member of the nobility?/

As the Giry household was contemplating the letter from America, a (for-the-moment) sober Raoul was trying to decide if he should go drag her out of the Giry house (messy, attention-attracting, and likely to harden her attitude), or, pretend they'd both agreed on this, wait for the wedding and go pick her up then (which meant three weeks in which he could look up some of his old friends whom he hadn't seen since he'd been given the responsibility for the Opera House . . .) Raoul had no idea what a bad influence some of those "Old Friends" would prove to be . . . in all truth, they were the ones who had given him a taste for cognac, and for Faro, which would prove to be his undoing. Deciding to go to his club to seek out his friends, /Why not, since she's with HER friends, and besides, she's off limits sexually for the next six weeks anyway . . ./ he slammed out the door to go find his drinking buddies.

**_(A/N – OK, Christine, now write your letter, and let me get back to Phantasma, please, Erik needs to be building his new concert hall, and now that the Hotel Phantasma's in the process of being furnished and decorated, he can split his time between that and the house, before the ground freezes and makes it impossible . . . . Please Read And Review)_**


	15. Chapter 15 Christmas Presents

**Chapter 15 – Christmas Presents**

_(A/N – Please pardon the delay, but real life got in my way for a time. Also, I needed to have a clear idea of my next steps for this story, or it would have needed a deus ex machina moment to straighten it out, and I really hate to write those, they get too close to breaking the fourth wall (and the mood of the scene.)_

It was now a week before Christmas, and Erik was planning on giving Nikola Tesla a tour of Ciara as a Christmas present, (He'd already checked with Ciara, well aware that this self-aware ship had ways of getting even – he'd had one too many cold baths to prove it.) Ciara was fine with it, and Tia seemed almost star struck at the notion. He also hoped for a few more answers (that comment about breaking the rules of time-travel intrigued him, since it implied a whole group of people doing the travelling, enough to generate a governing body . . . )

"And why are we coming to a small log cabin?" Mr. Tesla was a bit suspicious, but the two men had gotten to know each other a little, and both men were beginning to like each other. Erik, however, had the heart of a performer, and lived for the "Viola" moments, when he could arrange them, so, he only opened the door.

Tesla peered inside, expecting to see a small dank room. Instead, light poured out, and the space was – he looked back at the outer walls, then inside again. "How do you DO that?"

Ciara's voice came in the "empty" room. "It's a camouflage switch, with multi-dimensional technology, now, can you please come in out of the cold air?"

Cautiously, Tesla slipped inside, to find Tia waiting just inside, "Welcome to my ship, Doctor Tesla. Ciara is an isomorphic, self-aware Artificial Intelligence housed in a TARDIS body."

Tesla was puzzling this out, aloud. "Isomorphic, meaning only your hand on the controls, self-aware, Monsieur Y has mentioned, Artificial Intelligence, pretty obvious, but, TARDIS?"

Ciara chimed in, "Time And Relative Dimensions In Space – Contrary to today's popular wisdom, or human perception, there are actually Six Dimensions, rather than the four most people are familiar with . . . "

This was actually only the start of Ciara's remarks. As intelligent as Erik was, some of Ciara's phrasing seemed to be over his head, but Dr. Tesla, if he was struggling with the vocabulary, showed no sign of it.

About 20 minutes later, Tia gestured Erik into the corridor, and whispered "Let's leave those two together, they won't miss us if we go into the next room . . . ."

"And what is in the next room?"

"A secondary viewing room, I wanted to show you – well, Gustave's baby pictures. That is, if you want to see them . . . "

"IF I want to . . . Of COURSE I want to!"

The next day, Erik went back to building (he was now splitting his time between the house, (which he had "enhanced" in several areas, which was why it wasn't even halfway done)) and a new concert hall/opera house/auditorium (it could, with a few tweaks, be any or all three.)

Tia, with the majority of the recruiting done until spring, and everything running more smoothly, was spending alternate days in her "office", (she'd adapted the original building on Surf Avenue) and in a room in Ciara that Erik had never seen, and where she was keeping her research library and research notes, charts, family photographs, and all the rest of the stuff she DIDN'T want Erik catching sight of (including a jeweled headpiece that resembled a medieval crown . . . ) She kept having a feeling that she'd missed something semi-obvious, and no matter how much she double-checked herself, it kept eluding her attention.

Ciara was amusing herself with monitoring Europe, when Raoul let slip to his drinking buddies the fact that he had had measles as a young teen. Ciara then used her diagnostic bug that night, and found that the disease had affected his reproductive system, although with her advanced surgical techniques, it was a potentially reversible condition. /Hmm – I wonder if we could use that as a bribe? Maybe I should tell Tia this . . . /

Meantime, in another part of Paris, Meg was getting ready to sleep her last night as a single woman, and fussing with her wardrobe. "But, Mama, I have nothing blue . . ."

"Meg, don't fuss, our friend in America sent you that . . . "

"He did?" That was a chorus from two throats, "Let me see it!"

Madame Giry slowly opened the box, to a stunned look from Christine, and a gasp of awe from Meg. "Where on Earth did he get that? It looks like something an Empress might wear . . . and he gave it to ME?"

"Child, I've never been sure where he got at least half the things I've seen him with, but I know jewelry, and this is emeralds, sapphires, and what looks like pure gold. I don't think I've ever seen a clasp like this one, though. It's probably worth half that overdressed cow, Carlotta's, wardrobe, all by itself."

Christine looked the piece over, half in envy. Each jewel was the size of a man's thumb, and there were over 30 each of sapphires and emeralds, though they were not faceted, but rather smooth ovals, each almost half-encased in a glittering gold holder. "It's – wonderful, but – how did he know – over two months ago – that Meg would marry? The announcement was 6 weeks ago, and he sent must have sent this almost the day the engagement was announced, if it got here two weeks ago."

Madame Giry shrugged. "He always seemed to know everything important before we did. I never quite knew how then, either." /And I don't think I'd better mention that odd girl to you, you'll just fret. Even though she was right about my Meg . . ./

_(Unfortunately, we're going to have to deal with Raoul at the wedding (and the reception) next. So brace yourselves, and Read and Review)_


	16. Chapter 16 - Crashing The Party

**Chapter 16 – Crashing The Party**

_(A/N – Dragees come in two types, a small hard candy ball – about the size of a peppercorn, and what we call Jordan Almonds today.)_

The next day was bright and sunny, but cold, very cold. Those in the Giry residence were bundling themselves up in every warm cloak they had, before entering the bridal procession to the church.

"Christine, really, I assure you that three blankets are enough, babies are stronger than they look. Besides that, you're both taking a carriage to Notre-Dame while the rest of us must walk." Madame Giry's tone was exasperated, but indulgent. She remembered when she had been a new mother herself. It seemed like déjà vu all over again, watching Christine fretting over Gustave. /And, given what Christine has carefully NOT said, I think I'm going to be visiting her more frequently from now on . . . just to keep an eye on things./

Meanwhile in the DeChagney Chateau, Raoul was just now remembering that he needed to pick his wife up from the Girys, accompany her to the wedding /What a bore, well, at least the wedding feast should be good - / after which he could, finally, take her home.

Tia, meanwhile, was preparing to crash the party – she wanted a word with Christine, plus she needed to pop a few letters into La Poste, setting up a carefully limited trust fund, with a very specific purpose, /and how handy that they double as bankers./ For this she had dressed most carefully. Erik, had he seen her, would have been astounded, but then, she seldom wore a dress around him, at least, not when they were in private or in Ciara.

Her waist-length hair was unbraided and carefully up, and her outfit was a shade of blue that would later be called "electric". She also wore more of King John's loot – a platinum and sapphire necklace that resembled a torque, matching bracelet, earrings, tiara, and belt. She also had a satin-looking bag in the same blue which held some carefully thought out items, plus a few things for "just in case".

"I'll be back in about six hours, if all goes well," she said to Ciara, swinging a fur-lined cape onto her shoulders.

"By which time, knowing you, you're going to have a massive headache from that hairdo . . ." Ciara shot back.

"Probably, but, it can't be helped. If this thing is going to succeed, Christine HAS to choose freely, not get hustled into it. I'm just going to make sure she knows her options aren't limited to . . . well, Mr. Thinks-He's-God's-Gift-To-Women DeChagney."

"I don't care what you say, I'm keeping the transmitter open." It was in the earrings.

"Fine, Ok, WHATEVER, now I'm going or I'll be late." And Tia slipped into the church grounds, joining the procession. Along the way, she slipped her letters into the postal box near the church entrance.

The wedding was beautiful. The groom, as was the custom in France, escorted his mother up the aisle, then retreated to the back of the church for the processional. They were married under a large square of silk, which was traditionally there to ward off bad luck, (Any children would also use this same silk as a wrap for their christening) and the guests threw dragees at the bride and groom as they exited the church on the way to the wedding feast.

Tia accompanied the guests to the nearby hall for the wedding feast, giving a cordial nod to Madame Giry, who looked at her, then swung her aside with a whispered "Is HE here, too?"

Tia shook her head. "Relax, Madame, I would not put him in such peril. I merely want a few words with Christine, and, may I add, I am truly happy for your Meg and wish her all the best."

"Who ARE you, anyway? And where did you get that jewelry you wear?"

"The same place your Meg's collar came from, and don't worry, the original owner died a few hundred years back, with no heirs. No-one will come forward with a counter-claim, if I choose to gift it. As to who I am, I am Erik's friend, and I will be your friend, as long as you are loyal to Erik."

"How is he doing, really?"

"He's fine. In a year or so, he will be a rich man, with a prospering business, and a custom built house in America. And if you decide to come to Coney Island, I'm sure he can find you a place, should you want one . . . ."

"Mama, who is this?" Meg had come up behind them.

"Call me Tia . . . "

"Are you a friend of my Edmond's?"

"No, Baroness, you could say I am here to represent your American friend, since it would have been unwise for him to be here himself. On his behalf and my own, I wish you all the good fortune you can handle, and the health to enjoy it all."

"Thank you . . . ." Meg was perplexed by this girl, but willing to go along with the sentiment, anyway.

Tia wound her way among the guests, stopping at Christine's table. This was not a hard place to spot, since most of the theatre crowd was clustered around Christine and Gustave, while Raoul was watching with a jaundiced, and rapidly less sober eye. Some of the theatre people HAD tried to be civil to him, but he was so cutting towards every friendly "Hello" that they had soon given up, letting him stew, which seemed to be what he wanted.

"Madame La Vicomtesse, may I have a few moments of your time?" was Tia's first question, then to Raoul, "With your permission, Monsieur."

Raoul looked at her blearily, but she stared him down, as he rapidly took a better look at the jewelry she was wearing, and swallowed his first response, waving permission. Christine's old acquaintances were only too happy to have a chance to ooohh over the baby, so the two of them withdrew a little way into a small alcove, which was as private as such a large hall was about to get.

"Now, Madame, first things first. My name is Tia, and I am here on behalf of our mutual American friend."

"Are you . . . and he?"

"No, Madame, Erik is one of those who is faithful all his life to one alone. As long as that one is happy, he will do nothing. But, should that ever change . . . take this" / It was a sheet of music, entitled, I dreamed a dream./ "If you ever feel that you need to change your decision, sing that song on your balcony, but, be warned, once done, you will not be able to change your mind again, so be absolutely sure."

"And he will hear me?"

Tia smiled a smile that looked positively spooky. "I can assure you, that song will reach him, wherever you sing it. But if you do so on your balcony, the event chain I have set up will start working, and once started, nothing will ever be the same again. Have no fears for your son, one of my top priorities is to protect him, also. The choice is yours, as it always was."

"Who ARE you?"

Tia's smile went gentler. "I am a traveler in time and space, with one chance to set things right. There are events playing out all around you, at all times, that affect the course of what will come. I am trying to make a better future, for all of us – and, since I must not tamper with anyone's free will, it can be VERY difficult. But believe this, I mean you no harm, and I would die before I would harm your son in any way . . ."

"I – think I DO believe that – are you the one who got HIM away safe?"

Tia nodded, with a wry smile. "Not that THAT was easy, he can argue like a solicitor when he doesn't want to do something . . . I must go soon, and your spouse just got up, I think he's coming to fetch you. Good luck, and remember . . . ."

Raoul was, indeed, making his way over. Christine tucked the paper into her reticule, and, bracing herself, went to meet him. /I'm beginning to wonder what happened to my childhood friend, because the man may have the memories, but the attitudes seem to have drained away . . . ./

"I've had enough of this place", was Raoul's grumbled greeting. "Let's pry the child away from the mob and go home."

_(A/N – I do wonder how long it will be before Raoul actually calls "the child" by his name – Please Read And Review)_


	17. Chapter 17 - Through A Crystal, Darkly

**Chapter 17 – Through A Crystal, Darkly**

_(A/N – Getting to the endgame soon, I think. Maybe 5 or 6 more chapters. Of course, that's provided the characters don't start using my head as a trampoline, again. And, as always, I own Tia and Ciara, everybody else is someone else's property.)_

It was now mid-April 1896. In America, Phantasma was putting the finishing touches on the buildings, lining up the acts, and testing out the rides and attractions (Nikola and Erik had come up with five new inventions together in the process.)

In Ciara, Tia was in her Workroom/Library – still muttering to herself "I've MISSED something, I can FEEL it, but I Still can't figure out what it IS . . . ." on the average of six times an hour, as she endlessly scoured her notes, now and then pulling another volume over to double-check this or that fact.

In Monte-Carlo, Raoul was entering a casino, accompanied by his good friend (and drinking buddy) Darius.

And in Paris, the Vicomtesse De Chagney and the Baroness Castelot-Barbezac were having a "girl's week", since their spouses were both away on business trips. Christine and Meg were in the park after a day of shopping, while Madame had "volunteered" (or really, been talked into) watching Gustave in her flat.

"Really, Meg, it just keeps getting worse and worse! He's drunk more than he's sober, he's losing money every time he picks up cards OR dice, he doesn't listen to a word I say, and in over five months, he's only said Gustave's name ONCE, and that was during the christening ceremony! It's always "the boy" or "the child", never Gustave. And he doesn't even seem to notice when his mother or his sister Yvette snipe at me . . . the only one of his relatives who seems to even acknowledge me in a positive way is Veronique, and she's living two provinces away! I can't take any more of this! I wish I'd waited . . . ."

"Waited for what? Erik was gone, you said."

"Yes, but . . . I always knew that there was no real future for us under the Opera House. They were hunting him with dogs at the end, for Le Bon Dieu's sake! If I had known he was going to America, I'd have gone with. I just wish I could have known that I was screwing things up this badly . . . ."

Tia, listening to all this inside Ciara, shouted, "That's IT! That's what I've been missing! Ciara . . . ."

"I know, get us there instanter, right? OK, Paris, coming up!"

Before Meg could form a reply, she heard what sounded like 50 old men wheezing in unison, and just after that, the voice of that strange girl from the wedding sounded behind them.

"You are correct, Madame, and I must apologize. It is unfair of me to show Erik what would have been, and not to extend the same courtesy to you. If you would care to see what the future would have held for you had I not interfered, then you shall see. And IF you decide to let it happen anyway, I will leave you be. It is, after all, your decision."

"What about me?" Meg wasn't going to be left out of THIS.

An uneasy grimace crossed the girl's face, and then she nodded. "Very well, on the condition that you both give your word not to talk of this with anyone else – and Baroness, that INCLUDES your mother. When you see what might have been, I think you will understand WHY I specifically don't want her knowing what a mess she could have made of things."

Meg, cautiously said, "I will agree to give my word only if I agree about your reasons. It can't be THAT bad . . . ."

Again the grimace, "Very well, come this way." She led them to a small shack, and pressed her ring to a slot in the door – ushering them into a space with two chairs. "I'll just get another chair – Ciara – timetick and hover – CMP1."

"Right, Boss!" came the cheerful alto voice, as both women stared in wonder around them.

"Now that we have stopped the clock outside this ship . . . . Oops, I'm forgetting my manners, would either of you care for anything to eat, or drink, or a quick tour, before we show you what would have been?"

"An explanation would be nice . . . ."

Tia's smile was genuine, if brief. "Well, parts of this the scholars are still debating, but – let's start with a question, When you were performing a work, did you ever feel, even briefly, that it was all REAL, and if you could have gotten through the right door, or maybe through the right window, you could have stayed in that world?"

"Yes . . . for a little while." said Christine. Meg nodded, too.

"OK, now imagine that one of the most brilliant scientists in the world found out that those other worlds were real, and how to get to them. That is what my ship does, goes between the worlds, but there is a catch."

"What is this catch?"

"If you think for a minute, how many Operas that you were in ended happily?"

"Not many, the public prefers to see tragedies . . . ." Meg was beginning to see what Tia was getting at. Christine still looked puzzled, but she was running through the Operas she knew, in her head . . .

"Ok, now, I happen to be from this time stream, but farther along it – by your standards I have not yet been born. In exploring the possibilities, I got ahold of a copy of what the composer of THIS timeline wants to have happen in about 9 more years. Not that his music isn't brilliant, but I would rather two live and sane women be in this world than another great aria be here instead. You see, HE prefers tragedies, also."

"Why should you care, if you are from the future, who are we to you?" Christine had caught up.

"Picked up on that, did you? I'm . . . . your granddaughter, and I REFUSE to let this tragedy happen this way. That's why I pushed Madame Giry to stay here, so you, Baroness, could meet your mate – in addition to you finding a good man, it solved many problems for me . . . "

"I think we should SEE this work," decided Christine.

"Very well, Madame, let me just get a third chair, we can watch it right in here. But you must remember, NONE of this is more than a vision in a dark glass, and, if I can help it, that is what it will ALWAYS be."

**_(A/N – I just hope Christine doesn't get all huffy about "Devil Take The Hindmost"! Not to mention the blackmail scene in Act 1. Please Read and Review)_**


	18. Chapter 18 - Memories

**Chapter 18 – Memories**

_(A/N – To Phanatic01 – you are absolutely right, and I must admit I missed that point, so, let me fix it here, and we'll put it down to just having the idea sink in . . . And to Lola Spears, as well as Newbornphanatic, cario, and Akasheros, I hope you're enjoying the ride. And if there's anyone else out there who'd like to offer some constructive criticism, bring it on, I freely admit that I can sometimes miss the obvious.)_

Tia quickly came back in, rolling a large chair in front of her. "Now, before we start, since to do this properly will take about 2 hours ship-time, does anyone want or need anything? I have both a fully stocked kitchen and W.C facilities, just ask. And the action can be paused if you need or want something later –"

As Tia spoke, she was fussily positioning everything just so, and Christine caught her breath as she suddenly saw Erik's face superimposed on the girl's profile in her mind. That was HIS same expression when he'd been at the organ, that first night- "You really are of Erik's line, aren't you?"

Tia smiled gently, "Thank you for the compliment, Madame, I do try."

Not that Christine heard her, since she'd fainted as the concept sank in . . .

Tia, unruffled, smiled again, saying to Meg "Papa Gustave always said she was a fainter," pulling a box of capsules out of her pocket, and breaking one, wafting it about an inch away from Christine's nose where she half sprawled out of the chair. "Come to, Grande-Madame, I assure you, all WILL be well, if I can make it so . . . "

"Gustave is Erik's son?" Meg was seeing much more than she ever thought Christine would have told her.

"Of course." Tia's tone was completely calm. "Raoul is sterile, after all."

"He's WHAT!" That was almost a shriek from Christine, as she came back to consciousness. "You're joking."

"No, Madame, I am not. He had an illness when still in his teens that left his reproductive capacity undeveloped, and, with the state of current medical knowledge, no physician in this time period could cure him."

"Current medical knowledge, but you . . . ."

"I could cure him, yes, with some effort, but Madame, frankly, I've so far seen nothing to convince me that I SHOULD do so. However, it's an option I'm keeping in reserve . . ."

"In . . . reserve?"

"Madame, let us all be as honest as we may – if I have to use this option on Raoul to have him let you go without a fight, I will. However, your boneheaded spouse is just about to gamble the family estate right out from under all of you – his "business trip" is to Monte Carlo with that downright creepy buddy of his, Darius, the one who looks like his skin is made from white linen, it's so pale . . . "

Christine went linen-white herself. "How do you know THAT?"

"As I once said, I have a copy of what WOULD have been the future if I hadn't interfered. No, wait, that's starting the explanation in the middle, let's start at the beginning – Once upon another time, in a different Paris, a man named Gaston Leroux wrote a book –"

Fifteen minutes later, Meg and Christine were looking slightly dazed. "And this Webber wrote about US? Two different times?"

"It is so. And yes, I have copies of both works. But the sheer genius of the first work, which made it so successful, is only occasionally evident in the sequel. Nevertheless, it was popular enough that I'm having to fight the natural "pull" that whatever force sets all this in motion keeps trying to exert on the situation, which is WHY I must interfere again and again."

Christine was incensed at the motion of some nebulous force turning them all into puppets for its own purposes. "I want to see BOTH these works!"

Meg nodded agreement.

Tia smiled. "Then you shall. Ciara . . . ."

"Right, Boss, Movie or 25th Anniversary version?"

"Hmm, 25th, I think – while there are some scenes better in the movie, as a whole, while the 25th Anniversary suffered from a distinct lack of sets, I'd rather see Sierra as Christine, she had a better grasp of the character. Run program, use French subtitles, but pause on verbal command, we may need a break now and then."

"Coming up." And the central screen suddenly was a blaze of color – which steadied into a view of an enormous audience, with what appeared to be every seat in the house filled. As the auction commenced, both women stared as much at the means of showing them this work /It's like we were seated in the first balcony./ thought Christine. Meg was equally impressed with the orchestra, /There must be a hundred people playing instruments there./

By the time Carlotta was on stage, both of them were absorbed as much by the technical aspects as the story, but neither woman was about to question how this was being done . . . although Christine had to repress a snicker at the depiction of Carlotta as an aging, flirting, just slightly off key behemoth!

Meg was equally fascinated by the depiction of the phantom's interactions with her friend (since Christine had never gone into detail about the night she had disappeared.)

It was only when the scene with Buquet verbally teasing the ballet rats came up that Tia said, "Pause Program. I think it only fair to inform you ladies that Joseph Buquet was something more than a harmless drunken crackpot. He had secret viewing holes into ALL the female dressing rooms, and was using them often. He was . . . also someone who more than one girl had had to fight off - . . . . not always successfully, especially when he was drunk. And he had just been boasting to his friends about being able to singlehandedly end the "Menace of the Phantom" permanently. Now, as long as we are paused, I repeat my earlier offer. If either of you wishes to use the facilities, or something to drink or to eat, my kitchen is well stocked. "

"No, thank you, we're fine. Let us go on."

"As you wish, Madame."

Both girls were soon absorbed by the "Notes" scene, since Meg had only seen a part of it at the time, and it is, undeniably, rather complex, with action going on in three different places at once.

Then came the "Roof Scene". This time, Christine was paying more attention, (since, at the time, she'd been scared half out of her wits.) Raoul had started dismissing what she'd been saying even back then – only paying attention to the passion between them. Yes, he loved her, but it was not the same KIND of love (not that she'd known there were KINDS of love back then) that she had thought it was.

And when HE came out of his hiding place – crying?! Christine started realizing just how much she had hurt him. Yes, he had scared her, but, even in his worst rages, he had NEVER hurt her. Raoul, on the other hand . . . had promised love and delivered mostly pain.

By the time they'd gotten to the scene from Don Juan Triumphant, Christine's face felt hot with the realization that the movements she had thought merely lightly teasing were flaming with a passion that said much more than she had ever realized.

Then, the ending lair scene – seen from this distance, (and without having to concentrate on Raoul's safety), she saw the pain on Erik's face, the way he had seemed to come to his senses when she had kissed him.

"Sometimes, it is good to go back and remember how it was, rather than how our emotions may have tinged things," said Tia. "Still, that man in the blue shirt just coming out for the final curtain call, that's Webber. To be fair, he was mainly writing his version for his second wife, and great love, a soprano called Sarah Brightman, which may be one reason why the sequel will never be as good, since they divorced about 5 years after they married. Shall we move on to the sequel, or would you like a look at her?"

_(A/N – I realize that my output on this is slowing down a little, but I'm having to juggle family demands with my writing, and, well, family has a bit more priority, which means the writing gets done at some REALLY odd hours. Please Read And Review)_


	19. Chapter 19 - Love Never Dies, Take 2

**Chapter 19 – Love Never Dies, Take 2**

_(A/N –Well, if this doesn't convince Christine where she'd be better off – nothing will, at least, I hope so – events seem to be creeping along at the pace of an arthritic snail!)_

Both Meg and Christine had opted for a small break before viewing this possible future, which they had used to – more or less – compare notes.

Meg's question to her friend was, "Did it REALLY happen just like that?"

"Well," Christine hedged, "Not precisely like that in every detail, but, it was pretty close, all in all."

"I would have been frightened half out of my WITS!"

"I was, and I wasn't. I knew Erik would be furious, and he was, but I knew, somehow, that I was never the one in physical danger."

"Given what's happened since, I don't wonder that you feel like Raoul let you down, you almost certainly saved his life, and he seems to be throwing it away now."

"Yes, well, do we really want to see this other future?"

"Well, I do, I want to know why Tia is so adamant about not telling Mama how she could have messed things up. I mean, I know Mama's not perfect, but –"

"And she's so sure that Raoul's going to lose the estate – it's been, as his Mother reminds me almost daily, "in the family for over ten generations," usually just before she asks Yvette, "what is this world coming to?" Christine's expression was as sour as pickled lemons.

Meg felt like giggling at the imitation of Madame De Chagney, but refrained, since Christine obviously felt it was not a laughing matter.

"Well. Are we ready, then?"

"I guess so – and see, Tia is coming back, with a tray. Wow, look at all that fresh fruit – and in the early spring, at that. I wonder how she does it?"

"My head's already spinning with the last explanation we got from her, I'm not asking," said Christine, firmly. "Maybe she has a greenhouse, or a conservatory."

"Maybe –"

Tia smiled, genially, as she set down the tray. "It's all fresh picked, I have, well, call it a small indoor garden, on this ship. There are times it comes in handy. OK, are you both ready to see what would have happened without me pushing things askew? Baroness, I think you'll like your now better that your might-have-been. Unfortunately, Vicomtesse, your future still needs some work, but you may feel better about it if we work on it together, instead of just me pushing at it."

Both women nodded, and reached for some fruit as the screen lit up again.

The first scenes were interesting, but about 10 minutes in, Meg almost choked on the pear she had just bit into. /Me? Singing, Center Stage? And what the devil am I almost wearing?/

Christine was almost as shocked, not by Meg's act, but by Madame's ranting. /Chose Beauty and Youth over Genius and Art? No, that wasn't why at ALL!/

And both girls were stunned by the verbal picture Madame was painting, with Meg understanding the implications almost immediately. "Wait just a minute!"

The picture onscreen halted obediently.

Meg looked at Tia, appalled at the overtones. "Are you telling me that my mother –"

"Ten years can change a person, just as one year can. THAT Madame Giry had ten years to mold THAT Meg into what she wanted, a tool to get THAT Erik's considerable fortune, any and every way she could. The problem with such a scenario, Baroness, is that such constant pressure, not to mention the desire for such largess, either hones a person into an amoral cynic, or drives them crazy . . . or both at once. May I point out, though, that it did not happen in this time?"

"Thank Le Bon Dieu for that!"

Tia said nothing. She didn't care if Meg attributed it all to God, just as long as she didn't have to fight THAT scenario in the future. /There are still half a dozen ways this could end badly, don't sprain your arm patting your own back just yet,/ she reminded herself sternly. "Oh, and I think you can guess who Mr. Hammerstein's silent partner is . . . although that Christine thinks her Erik long dead. Shall we continue? We've only just begun to see the shape of THAT world."

Christine grimaced but did not otherwise comment on Raoul's semi-drunken ranting, smiling fondly at the scene with Gustave, but she gasped when the music box began to play "Point Of No Return."

And then the doors flew open, and the onscreen Christine swooned (gracefully) to the floor. Meg nodded to herself, it WAS a typical reaction for her friend . . . during the next song she kept trying to catch Christine's gaze, but Christine was busy turning a very pretty shade of red . . . and not looking at anyone-

Tia broke the silence after Once Upon Another Time – "Living on a starvation diet of duty and loyalty is all very well, but, as far as I'm concerned, an infertile man who lies about that state is not in a true marriage to begin with, even the Church would agree to that. Besides, by the Napoleonic Code that governs France, a male that cannot support their spouse, much less their family, does not deserve to keep that spouse."

"I am not in danger –"

"No? Well, time will tell, let us continue – this is still only Act 1, after all."

Christine said nothing about the blackmail threat, but was visibly fuming – until it got knocked out of her head by "Dear Old Friends."

"Actually," said Tia, in a conversational tone, "the composer softened this one down from his initial concept, his first version had at least 22 verbal knives in it. And he definitely minimized the workroom. Ciara, can you interpose a still shot for about 5 seconds of the London Aerie just as Gustave hits the bottom step?"

"Sure thing, Boss."

And suddenly there was a vastly complex place, with figures in the walls, a giant animated music box, and a central column that seemed to radiate colors. Then it was gone, back to a simple piano on the stage.

Both women listened in silence to The Beauty Underneath, enthralled by this glimpse through Phantom eyes, until Gustave's horrified shriek.

Christine felt both appalled and oddly vindicated as Erik fell to his knees, weeping, at the realization of what his flight had cost them both, and forgave him the blackmail threat as he rescinded it. She watched in fascination as he vowed all his assets, but winced as the onscreen Madame Giry called her son a bastard, even though it was, technically, true.

Even Meg was wincing at the next scene, Why Does She Love Me. Maudlin ramblings of a drunk they might be, but still, the angst in that scene was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Until the other Meg came in, which was a revelation. /She's miserable, and trying to hide it./

But both women huffed at Devil Take The Hindmost. Christine growled under her breath, "Really, Raoul, can't you EVER say no to a bet?"

Tia smiled to herself, /At least she's not blaming Erik –/

And when the other Meg's act turned into a striptease . . . . It was Meg's turn to go crimson, not meeting any eyes. Until the other Meg went to her dressing room . . . .

Tia paused the action. "Now, Baroness, do you see why I didn't want you discussing this with your mother? It didn't and won't happen here, but the Madame Giry of today does not deserve to suffer with the knowledge of just what a greedy witch another Antoinette Giry became. Or what the other Madame led another Meg into doing, for that matter."

"I - agree. I almost feel I should apologize –"

"Why? You did nothing wrong. Another time, another place, another Meg Giry, another set of choices – the possibilities are endless, and so are the variations. There are literally hundreds of time lines, I only am concerned with THIS one for now. Let's go on, there's not a lot left to see."

Christine almost was swayed by Raoul's passionate plea, until she realized that he was trying to win the "bet," rather than being honest about the situation. /You'll say ANYTHING to win, won't you?/

And the song, it was lovely, but more than that, it was nakedly honest. /That's Erik's heart, right out on stage, the song is just a frame for it./

But the crisis with her son's disappearance almost had Christine screaming, and Meg the Baroness groaning in sympathy for the Meg on the Pier, even though both women knew that men in general could be counted upon to miss the obvious, unless prompted, nine times out of every ten.

And when the other Christine fell to the pier, both Christine and Meg found themselves crying out a denial.

Meg looked at Tia. She was watching, but her knuckles gripping the chair were paper-white, it looked as if the chair-arms would break any second. In a weary tone, Tia said, "I told you Webber liked tragedies, even in the versions where Meg doesn't fire the gun, you still get shot by someone, with Gustave watching, which does Gustave's mind no good, and Erik winds up raising Gustave alone. That's what I'm up against. Gustave needs you, Erik needs you, and I'm trying my darndest to make that happen."

Christine cleared her throat, "I – understand. I don't like the whole situation, but I understand."

Tia thought, a trifle sulkily, /And you think that my spending 30 years or more rebuilding a home by staying away from my family is my idea of fun?/ but was too polite to say it out loud. What she said was, "There are too many variables to predict who the shot will come from, now that I've interfered, and you can't exactly go around in bullet-proof armor all the time, nor is it a viable option to keep you away from Gustave, so all I can do is keep watching. And speaking of watching, Ciara, what is the current status on Raoul, for once we start the clock back up?"

"He's in the main Casino in Monte Carlo, and Darius is encouraging him to try Roulette, but I can't know until it happens that this is the day he loses his shirt, not to mention everything else he owns. However, Tia, if you want the Vicomtesse to stay safe, you need to tell her that that pretty little kitchen maid at the DeChagney townhouse has Syphilis, and, since Raoul has been –er – with her at least three times in the past two weeks, by now he's probably got it, too –"

"WHAT!?" That was a chorus from three different women at once.

_(A/N – And, in those days, it was just about impossible to cure – yeah, I know, I can be EEEvil when I don't like a character – Please Read And Review)_


	20. Chapter 20 - The Letter Of The Law

**Chapter 20 – The Letter Of The Law**

_(A/N – Finally got everyone ALMOST where I want them, now let's start the wrapping up . . .)_

Tia was positively gleeful. Under the Napoleonic Code governing France, Raoul now had two strikes against him (three once he loses the estate). First, by taking a paramour under his wife's roof, 2nd by endangering her, given that Syphilis would be completely incurable until approximately 1940 (unless Tia gave him all the Antibiotics she had in stock – not bloody likely unless she absolutely HAD to,). . . and was, if untreated, eventually lethal. /I've GOT him, now all we need is to apply a little pressure and he'll fold like a linen shirt -/

Meg was a bit disgusted on her friend's behalf. /After everything she's done to keep that man safe – Raoul, you are a First Class IDIOT!/

Christine was shocked by the fact that she was NOT in the least surprised. Livid about the insult of it being one of the servants, unhappy, yes, but not grief-stricken at such news - /I had thought I would feel more pain on his behalf – I guess I really don't love him that much, after all./

Tia turned to Christine. "Well, Madame, this all revolves around your decision, since if I push you on this one, what I'm trying to accomplish will not happen. So, let me list your options.

1. You can decide that this is all some horrible joke or nightmare and continue on with an increasingly more difficult life.

2. You can petition Raoul for a divorce. Under the current Napoleonic rules, a divorce will take a year or so (if you get one).

3. You can fake your own death, and Gustave's, and make your way to a new start somewhere else in the world.

4. Or you can accept my help to get you both free from the Worthless Lump, er, Raoul, a free ride across the sea to Coney Island, plenty of music in your life, enough money to live comfortably, and a man who loves you still, even if he cannot yet believe that someone as perfect as you would ever love someone with his flaws.

Those are the only 4 paths that I can see, can anyone think of a fifth?"

Meg, trying to lighten the mood a little, said, "We could always shoot Raoul –"

Tia frowned, "Not an option, Baroness, or I would have listed it first. We don't need any of this group going to jail, French prisons of this time period are worse hellholes than most of the rest of Europe. Besides, Syphilis is horribly painful and debilitating in the later stages – he'll pay for every insult and slap soon enough."

Christine paused a moment, thinking as hard as she could. Put like that, she didn't see many happy choices . . . and this was either the biggest hoax ANYONE had ever played, or real – and she wanted it to be real. To have the option to sing again . . . that alone was a big factor in her decision. "I choose - Erik, and all that comes with him."

Tia smiled. "Right. Ciara, plan B3 – now what was the name of that magistrate we'll need? And can you get a deposition from that Doctor's nurse. . . . Madame, I'll be back in two days at 10 AM, the day (and time) that Raoul will be back from his supposed business trip, I will confront him, you need do nothing more than be here to observe. Baroness, you may observe if you please, but I must remind you that under the current rules you cannot be considered a witness-"

"If you think I'm going to miss THIS –"

"As you will, Baroness."

Two days later, Raoul slumped back into town (he had, indeed, lost the estate at Monte Carlo,) with his buddy, Darius, who had started acting rude as soon as the money was gone, but at least had promised to make sure he got back to Paris safely. Raoul was trying to figure out how (and what) to tell Christine when he went to knock on the door of the Giry flat, only to spy Christine across the street in the park, with Meg and that weird girl from Meg's wedding. All three were sitting on a park bench seemingly waiting for him, watching as he came hesitantly over.

Tia spoke first, "Did you have a good time in Rouen, Monsieur? Or did the train somehow jump the tracks to Monte-Carlo?"

Raoul was about to reply, then the question hit home and he went pale. "How do you know that?"

"You could say I saw it all, regardless, I do know that, and a good deal more besides. I know that you no longer hold title to the DeChagney estates, I know that you have been comforting yourself with Silvie, I know Silvie has the Pox, and I know that your seed is barren, and has been so all of your life. Oh, and I know that you really have no assets left, so, I will make you a deal."

Raoul wanted to deny the catalogue of sins this girl kept listing, but, he was not, by nature, a liar. Feckless and reckless, but not a liar. He said nothing, but listened.

"Your estate, plus enough funds to comfortably run it, is now in the hands of La Poste, in a special account. You sign this annulment of your marriage and Quit claim of custody on Christine And Gustave, and you can have your estate back, plus enough of a monthly allowance to run it as it should be run. And there is one other point. From this day forward, America is off-limits to you. You do not go there, write to there, send anyone there, nor even discuss the place. If you break this condition, the deal ceases as soon as it happens, and the estate goes to your brother-in-law De Villeforte, to hold in trust for your mother and sisters."

Raoul was astounded, outraged, ashamed, and alarmed in turn by this dissertation, but if his mother and sisters would be protected –"But where will Christine go?"

"Monsieur, I grant you have some sincere concerns, but your actions on that score have proved inadequate to provide for her – she will have a new life, and she will be well taken care of. Now, do you sign, or do we do this the hard way?"

"I – I- _ Christine, if you believe nothing else, believe this, I am sorry – " and Raoul signed the document the girl was waving, not without a pang of regret.

Christine looked at him, sadly. "I do believe that. We both tried our best, but, what I need, I can't seem to get from you . . . Farewell, Raoul."

Tia looked after Raoul's retreating back for a long moment, then gave a shrill whistle, and the two men behind the trees came out and signed the documents also. Now it was legal, and a third man, behind another tree received his copies, to go on file with the French courts, (all three had been handsomely compensated for a half-hour's work).

Tia relaxed, with a sigh. /I can't believe he gave in that easily. Is it really almost over?/ as she gathered her copies (to go on file only if needed.)

Then a man stepped out from behind yet another tree, grabbing Christine by an arm whose fist was clutching an enormous knife. His skin was as white as salt . . . .

/Ooops, he's not supposed to be here!/ thought Tia, a little irately, (with herself as well as with Darius.)

"Alright, Darius, you seem to have the upper hand, now what is it you want?" Tia asked bluntly. One hand was in her pocket, the other was extended towards him.

"You have money, you've been throwing it all over Paris, you care about this woman. You get the woman, unhurt, and I'll take the money."

/Darius, you're a worse idiot than Raoul if you think I'll put up with that - / "Ciara! A2!"

Almost immediately, Darius felt something hit the small of his back with a kick like a mule. He had to drop the knife to grab his back . . . and Tia took advantage of the confusion to deliver a roundhouse kick to set him off balance, (and never mind the fact that she exposed her leg to the world doing so, she couldn't have cared less.) In short order Tia had him hogtied like a prize steer. "I earned every centime of that money by working for it like a carter with a ten-horse team, you fool. What I do with it is none of your business, and you can tell your master I said so!"

"What do you know about my master?"

"I know that you call him Mammon, but that is not his only name, he has many . . . "

"Not all of them complimentary," came a deep, but unfamiliar voice. The world seemed to tilt on its axis for a moment, then steady as a VERY well-dressed, powerfully built, positively gorgeous male (you could not really call him a man, he was nothing of the kind,) came into view.

Tia went white as snow for a moment herself, then straightened up to her full 5 foot 4 and a quarter inches, only to sink into a curtsey so low that it nearly had her on the ground. Choosing her words as carefully as a doctor chooses his scalpel for an operation, she said "Fairest and Fallen, Greeting and Defiance. I did not know that my humble actions would garner such attention."

The Lord of Entropy (among several other titles) arched a brow, saying only, "I have come for my servant." His finger pointed at Darius. "He is still useful to me."

Tia gulped, but backed away from Darius. "Then I relinquish to you, Great Lord, what small claim his activity gave me. I presume that this is – unfinished?"

The Prince of this World just looked at her, crooked a finger and the ropes fell away, then gestured to Darius, and the two retreated from the park.

Tia sat down heavily on the bench. "Phew, that was one tense situation. Ladies, thank you for remaining silent, I'm not sure what would have happened to any of us if HIS attention had not been fixed on Darius . . . "

"Who WAS that man?"

"He has many names, but one you might recognize is Mephistopheles . . . but we're gathering up Gustave, and any possessions you want to take with you, and getting out of this town, just as fast as humanly possible."

_(A/N – Darius is NOT mine, I borrowed him (and his Master) from Frederick Forsythe's The Phantom Of Manhattan, which was probably the first officially sanctioned sequel to Webber – though his Raoul was a lot more dignified, and a bit less stupid . . .Please Read And Review)_


	21. Chapter 21 - Goodbye to Paris The Encore

**Chapter 21 – Goodbye To France (The Encore)**

_(A/N –I've rewritten this Chapter at least 4 times, and I THINK I've stuffed everything I need to into it this time . . . Also, while I don't want (or intend) to give away the store - let me give you the "POTO in 15 minutes" version of "The Phantom of Manhattan" since finding it in most local libraries is a gigantic headache (and I've gotten at least three "never got hold of THAT book" messages (it's much more fun when we're all on the same page.)._

_The author starts with WHY he and ALW both loathe the last third of the Leroux version, which more or less amounts to - there are too many internal inconsistencies for it to hold up under a good internal fact checker's analysis - (and I have to agree with a lot of his points there, I didn't fall in love with Erik until I saw the stage play, mostly because of those same inconsistencies, though I HAD read the book a few times before.)_

_The story starts twelve years after POTO with an "I'm dead but you need to know this" letter from Madame Giry to Erik, in which she reveals that Raoul is and always was both impotent AND sterile, which means Christine's child is Erik's - and coincidentally, that Raoul married Christine out of gallantry as well as affection. Oh, and there is NO Beneath A Moonless Sky in this version, (which I happen to think is one of the three best songs IN the whole of LND), Erik seduces Christine in the lair after "Point Of No Return" while Raoul is pelting down the stairs with Madame, with the rest of the Opera crowd pelting along behind, howling for blood. (Really fast work, especially for a virgin male.)_

_Erik, who by this time is the driving financial force of Manhattan, (with a secretary/butler/servant named Darius) gets this letter and goes into overdrive, writing a new opera called the Angel Of Shiloh - set in the South during the Civil War, and enticing Christine, (the operatic toast of Europe - her only operatic rival is Nellie Melba) and her son, who travels with her, (accompanied by Meg, whose role is, more or less, Christine's personal maid,) over to sing the role by the sheer genius of the work. (Money is no enticement to this Christine, Raoul is doing very well in that regard, thank you.)_

_To continue, Darius has one driving force, Money (forget any other emotion - the man is utterly and completely Amoral), AND he has taught Erik to value $$$ just as much as he does, (oh, and he is Erik's monetary heir, which is WHY Darius stays with him) and one major flaw, Opium, which he uses to communicate with his Master - who he calls Mammon, but we get enough hints from the dialogues between Mammon and Darius to get several hints of his REAL Name . . . _

_And once Darius realizes who this child is, he tries to shoot Pierre, (Gustave got a name change in this one,) Christine fatally intercepts the bullet, and Erik, without even thinking twice, plugs Darius right between the eyes with the pistol he always carries (Erik? With A GUN?). Christine survives just long enough to tell Pierre who his father is, which Raoul, who IS on the scene for all this, confirms. And the kid, who has met Erik before this for all of three hours (most of which time they were both onstage performing IN The Angel Of Shiloh) and has NEVER seen Erik's bare face, without a second thought, goes and takes off the hat and the mask, hugs Erik, who is crying so hard he can barely see, much less stand up, and says, "I want to stay with you, father."_

_But in the Forsythe version, Christine's relationship with Erik amounts mostly to fear mixed with fascination, there is NO love there on her part, nor any hope of it, (not to mention the "seduction" as described by Christine, skirts perilously close to rape,) which is one reason I don't like the book much - and neither does most of the general public!_

_End of summary, we go ON now!)_

Having sent Christine off to fetch Gustave, plus anything she wished to take with her from Madame Giry's place (or anyone – Tia fully expected Christine to show up with Madame in tow), Tia went the few blocks to the Opera Stable yard, where she had one last thing to fetch from Paris . . . a certain Lipizzan stallion named Cesar – now that Erik HAD a stable to put him in. (Ciara had drawn the line at part of her becoming a long term stable for ANY horse, but had consented to transport him once there was somewhere ELSE to put him.)

She was leading the horse back (he had cost her 10 Gold Napoleons, plus two more to the stable master to get him to sign the Bill of Sale), since SHE was not much of a rider, when she saw Christine, Gustave in one arm, valise in the other, and Madame entering the park from another entrance. Madame appeared to be arguing.

As Tia got closer, she could hear Madame, an aggrieved tone in her voice, "And you're just going to go off in Le Bon Dieu knows what contraption on the say so of a girl you've barely met?"

Tia was close enough by now to interject. "Why not? Erik did, and he was in America OVERNIGHT, with not so much as a scratch on him. And I didn't charge him so much as a centime for passage, either. Madame, I assure you, you need not fear that Christine will be harmed, nor you, should you choose to come along. But I will not force you, there's something to be said about an ocean voyage, as long as you're on the right ship. But this horse and I need to get back NOW, I have several tasks that need constant vigilance, and I've spent as much time as I dare in this city." Tia spied two men, in livery, bringing up about four more valises. "Madame Christine, do you have anything at the country estate you wish to retrieve on our way out?"

Christine shook her head, and said a thank you to the men, (she had already told her goodbyes to Meg, whose husband had showed up during the interval, and loaned her two footmen for an hour, to transport her luggage "to wherever Madame thinks best".) Tia made their faces go bright when she tipped each one with a Gold Napoleon left over from her buying trip.

"Then," said Tia, slipping her ring into Ciara's door to unlock it, "let us get bags, horse, and all right in there," Ciara's door opened up into a clear space with plenty of room for a horse, plus a center post to hitch him to, "and then you gentlemen are free to go where you will."

Madame Giry sniffed. "I shall take the Lorraine, next month. I have already booked a ticket."

"As you will, Madame. We will be there to greet you at the dock in New York."

The men, with such a large tip, did not even hesitate, but took the bags in, tied the horse, bowed, and left. Madame Giry said goodbye to Christine "for a time, write to me when you get there," and quickly went off "to pack".

Tia and Christine went in, with Tia shutting the door, and leading Christine to a door across the room. This led to the same room Christine had already been in, and Tia indicated a room just into the next corridor. "If you would care to rest, or refresh yourself, this is my guest bedroom."

"I – need to ask you a question."

"Yes, Madame?" Tia turned to her, all attention.

"You have been around Erik much more than I – what should I say to him?"

"Hmmm, well, this is more or less up to you, but, were I starting over, I would ask for a new start, with no pretenses. Madame, you HAVE to know that Erik has, in almost thirty years of life, gotten exactly two kisses, both of which were from you. He knows very little about Male/Female relationships, save by observation of the Opera employees, and even YOU must admit, that's not exactly a great example of love. All he knows of love is what is found in the pages of books, of Opera, and from you. Mold him into your ideal, and he will probably thank you for it, but remember, he's LEARNING as he goes, and he can't and won't pick up anything subtle, unless you teach him to first."

Christine was startled by that. "He seems so confident – "

"About music, yes, he has a natural genius there, but about people? How could he learn when his face scares everyone away? Even his mother thought of him as cursed, and the time he spent in the cage in the Gypsy camp didn't –"

"WHAT? What cage?"

"His bitch of an alcoholic mother sold him to Gypsies at the age of seven. He spent years in a cage, being marketed by them as the "Devil's Child," pelted with filth, and beaten twice daily. Look, you had a normal childhood, you learned how to deal with people from watching other people. He had none of that. The only way he got out was by literally strangling his "owner," who was beating him at the time, and a ballet rat who was watching – "

"Madame Giry?"

"She opened the cage, showed him how to get under the Opera House, to get away from the Gendarmerie. He grew up there, rarely leaving . . . I'm still not sure how he got to (or for that matter, out of) Persia, he doesn't talk about it much. But he was drawn to you in spite of everything. You have no idea how much courage it took for him to even say one word to you, behind solid walls or not."

"Oh, Mon Dieu, I've never really understood him at all, have I? I thought . . ."

"Madame, please, it should not be ME telling you these things. Erik needs to tell you himself, if you can coax him to. For now, don't reject his awkward attempts, teach him what you WANT. And if you are the one asking, then he'd probably do damn near ANYTHING."

And Tia left to get Ciara back to Coney Island, arguing the question, "Do we go back to the time we left, and have Christine live those days over, or do we use the date from Paris, and have Erik fretting where we are for days on end?"

They finally came to a compromise, and reappeared in Coney, where Erik was, indeed, looking for her. "WHERE have you been?"

"Getting you a surprise, now calm down, please, you'll spoil the presentation."

"What do you mean?"

"Come with me . . . I got you a new/old horse, for one thing –"

"A new – old horse?"

"I brought Cesar back with me, consider him a birthday present."

"It's not my birthday – Wait, you've been to Paris? Did you see – her?"

At that point, Gustave began fretting in the guest room, and Erik stiffened. "What is that noise?"

Then there were soft whispers, and Christine emerged, with Gustave fussing in her arms, "Tia, can I get some – Erik!"

_(A/N – This chapter is getting too long – I'll save the reunion scene for the next chapter – hopefully that one won't be as tricky – but I'm not betting on it! Please Read And Review)_


	22. Chapter 22 - You Want To Build A WHAT?

**Chapter 22 – You Want To Build A WHAT?**

_(A/N – I really have a dozen other things I ought to be doing, but now I've got two characters howling in my head for their say, (Erik, put that dagger down, you'll get your chance, you don't need to start poking holes in my thoughts) so here I am again, back at the keyboard. Now be quiet, will you both? You've already given me the migrane from H-E-Double Hockey Sticks.)_

Erik stared at the vision. /I must be dreaming, how can SHE be here? And what do I say to her?/ "Christine, is that you?"

Christine, with Tia's advice ringing in her head, took a cautious step forward, soothing Gustave as she went. "I understand you have a new business, have you got a place for a good soprano? I'm looking for work."

Erik mentally shook as he schooled his voice to neutrality, "Well, yes, but, will your spouse not object?"

Christine grimaced at the words she knew she would have to say. "I no longer have a husband. Erik, can we please start over? Perhaps this time we can get things right."

Erik breathed in sharply, vowing silently to get Tia alone at the first opportunity to find out how she'd pulled that one off. /Later, you fool, your woman needs an answer now./  "I have a space open in my new concert hall, and it comes with a suite in my Hotel. Come, I'll show you."

Tia, who was standing at a door that Erik hadn't seen before, said, "We're at the house, it's nearly two miles to Phantasma, why don't you two ride Cesar, and I'll bring Gustave along after I change his diaper. Madame, when was Gustave last fed, and what is his preferred diet? I'll put together a baby travel valise."

Some four hours later, Erik finally got Tia to himself in the Aerie. "Alright, what did you do to the fop? How did you get them HERE?"

"It was not necessary to do anything to him physically, the fool did it to himself."

"EXPLAIN." His tone was pure ice.

"Ok, OK, Yeesh, Erik, don't be so suspicious. Look, it's like this –" and Tia told the Tale of the Fop and the diseased Kitchen Maid. "So once Christine heard that, it was pretty much the last straw. We got the marriage annulled two days later, and I kept copies for the American courts. She's free. But the inverse is that until he's officially adopted, Gustave's status is, unfortunately, that of a bastard. Still, we should be able to get that resolved before he's old enough to notice."

/Free? She's free, and she's HERE with MY son – and with ME! With no force, no tricks, nothing holding her but her own will./ "And what of this Darius?"

"I can handle Darius – although I will admit his Master makes me nervous. Still, I have no choice but to continue on this path. All I can do is triple check every major action before I move forward, which is a course of action I recommend to you. Also, if you want a bit more ammunition on our side in THAT fight . . ."

"What?"

"How would you feel about putting a small church into the corner of the park grounds? Catholic, by preference. I can petition the Archbishop of New York, but if we do that, we're going to need a special kind of priest to fill the post, which means I'll have to split my attention farther so I can have the name of the one we want by the time the bell tower goes up . . ."

"A – Catholic - CHURCH? You're jesting."

"You'd prefer a Synagogue? Look, Erik, I'm NOT saying you'd need to attend mass, and I am not – ever - going to argue about your faith or lack of it, that's your lookout. But if Darius's Master has power enough to manifest in this universe, which it is OBVIOUS that he does, since I've seen him, then so does God, and I, for one, would be happy to get a little more of His attention focused here! Besides, I'm pretty sure that Christine was converted to Catholicism by Madame Giry back in the day, and do you really want her travelling all the way to the Cathedral in Manhattan every Sunday? I sure don't, not without an escort, and maybe body armor. Oh, and speaking of Madame, she'll be here in about two months, we'll need to find her a place to stay, and something to do to earn a living – her savings won't last forever."

Erik felt like his head was about to spin off his shoulders, but there was no time to stop and think right now about the deeper implications behind having Mephistopheles showing himself, even briefly. "Fine, you can use that 400 foot lot on the Southwest corner of the Boardwalk, but leave me out of this one. I have a new diva to retrain before opening day."

Tia smiled and reached over, to his shock, giving him a brief hug before going down the stairs, saying as she went, "Thank you, Erik, I'll take care of it. You go woo your lady, and get to know your son. I'll see you later –"

Erik was left standing there, struggling with his conflicting emotions. /What did I just agree to? Wait, Madame is coming? In two months? Just in time for the Grand Debut? I have to get to WORK! I should look in on Christine – I –/

Meantime, Christine was happily settling in to her new suite, which included a new nursery maid who lived on another floor but could be summoned at will "For when Madame must be doing other things than tending to the little one", as well as enough closet space to fit all five of her valises, a crib for her son, and hot and cold running water in the bathing salon.

Soon, there was a knock at the door, and she opened the door to find Tia. "I came to see how you were settling in, and to ask a question."

"It's a luxurious suite, but – well – I've never really dealt with running water , , , it seems a little odd."

"You will get used to it, but the question I have is this. We're still building a community here, and part of that is the spiritual aspect – what is your religion? I would guess either Lutheran or Catholic."

"I'm a Catholic, but why ask?"

"Because I'm about to go see the local Archbishop, and get a new church built here, and I thought you might like to come along."

"Not today, but, I appreciate your asking. However, I haven't time for such an excursion - I have a voice lesson in two hours."

"Very well, I'll be back. Meantime, if there is anything you want or need, I will try to make sure you get it, just let me or the staff know."

_(A/N – And now they're free to rebuild, on firmer ground, but we haven't seen the last of Darius YET – so keep a sharp eye and we'll all watch for trouble. Please Read And Review)_


	23. Chapter 23 - A Dark And Mysterious Man

**Chapter 23 – A Dark And Mysterious Gentleman**

_(A/N – And now to deal with my OTHER pest (opens door in her brain to reveal a well-dressed, tall, thin, dark skinned man with a turban. "Look, Daroga, you have been depicted in a multitude of roles, so, if you are here to be Erik's watchdog/conscience/opium pusher/potential executioner, then find someone ELSE to pester, those roles are either already filled in this story, or there is no need for them here. If, on the other hand, you are here as Erik's friend and stand-in father figure, I can use the help, and your particular skill set, so speak up, which Persian version ARE you?" _

_"I must concede the possibility of confusion, but I am Erik's friend. And I want to see him happy for a change."_

_"Fine, welcome aboard, and here's a still photograph of the man we're watching for . . .")_

In the next few weeks Christine began to see Erik as he truly was. Without the haze of youthful devotion, or of hurt and fear, she realized that he was really very shy, even a little awkward except when music was being discussed. That first ride together on Cesar, he had seemed to fumble about with his hands until she had firmly put them about her waist - It was she who had to propose that he walk her home, or to see one of the now completed parks "to see how it looks in moonlight" since both of them were mostly occupied during daylight hours. Not that he didn't always accept – even if he had to reschedule something else. Things were starting to progress very nicely, when, on one such excursion (their bodyguards were at the park entrance, giving them some privacy), she noticed a man more-or-less hiding behind a tree. "Erik, who is that?"

"Who is whom?"

"That tall dark man in the odd hat – over to your left. See him?"

"No, but, wait a moment, if he's wearing an odd hat" and his tone began to darken with a sort of resigned annoyance, "I think I can guess. Daroga, if that's you, do come out, but I must say, your skill at hiding is abysmal today – losing your touch, old man?"

"Not at all, I thought it was time we were introduced, since she seems to be asking more and more about your previous life, especially since you are ANSWERING some of those questions. You would not do that unless she meant something special to you."

"She means EVERYTHING special to me," was Erik's reply, with a tone that said he meant every word. "Christine, this is Daroga Nadir Khan, once head of the Persian Secret Police, now a thorn in my side. Daroga, this is Christine Daee, my –"Erik stopped, baffled by how much he wanted to say, but none of it was coming out.

Christine filled the conversational gap. "How do you do, Daroga, I guess you could say I am Erik's fiancée." /And if I wait for HIM to say it, it might be next winter before he gets the words out -/ But she was watching Erik as she spoke, and he first went stiff, then relaxed, then – tentatively – as though testing a new path – he put his hands on her shoulders in silent support, slipping partially behind her.

Nadir Khan was much too schooled in self-control to give an indication of his utter shock. Erik NEVER touched anyone, especially in public, and yet this girl was relaxing into his friend's tentative embrace even as he watched, resting her head against his chest. /Erik, what kind of sorcery is this, and who bewitched whom here? You seemed as startled by the concept, at first, as I was, but – /

Erik wasn't going to question THAT word, especially not with the Daroga in earshot. /Fiancée. Not as musical as "wife", but she said it freely, and I'll take it – for now./

"So, Erik, you seem to have done very nicely for yourself. How did you finance it all, with the money you got from the Shah?"

"Some of it, but some came from my secretary, also, and frankly, Daroga, feel free to investigate her if you please, but she's even more mysterious than YOU are, and that's putting it mildly." /Good luck finding out ANYTHING about HER past, I am firmly convinced that it doesn't exist where you can look for it./

"Your secretary?"

"That," Tia said, just slightly breathless, stepping into the park, "would be me. I am called Tia."

The Daroga frowned, settling into old habits. "And your FULL name?"

Tia chuckled, "Do you know, you're the first person to ask for that in almost twenty years? " She took a deep breath. "Tiamara Erika Y'Phoenix – and I was born in Chicago, Illinois, but, good luck finding any records, it was a home birth."

"And when was this?"

"Now THAT I will not say – and don't bother pestering anyone in Phantasma, none of THEM know, either. And, before you ask, I earned the money for this project scouring old shipwrecks, the sea floor is positively littered with gold and gems when you know where to look, and can get deep enough. That's why very little of it is silver, silver deteriorates in water, especially salt water."

"But that necklace I saw you with last year –" That was Christine.

"That, dear lady, was platinum, not silver. Pretty thing, isn't it? I rather like that piece, myself."

"And that ring you're wearing?" Khan persisted. "It seems unique, yet, Erik wears one just like it –"

Startled, Erik paid closer attention to the ring he wore, a large black onyx oval, and looked at Tia's, they looked identical except for the size of the band.

"It's a family heirloom, I inherited it from my paternal grandfather." Tia's tone was patient, but irked. "And I am not talking about THAT with you, Daroga, or ANYONE. Next question, or are you through, for now? I do have work to do –"

"One more, for now – who is Erik to you. and why should you help him?"

"Daroga, you wouldn't believe me if I told you who Erik is, to me, but, as to why I help him, in the end, it comes down to, because his happiness makes ME happy. Chew on THAT, Monsieur le Detective, and I'm sure I'll see you around, but right now I have a meeting to interview our potential next priest, and I'll be late unless I run NOW. Good evening to you all." And Tia curtsied, and ran, picking her skirts up slightly so that she could go more quickly.

The three people left in the park all looked at each other. "Tiamara Erika Y'Phoenix, you are a puzzle," murmured the Daroga, half to himself, then bowed farewell, and left, following the direction Tia was heading.

"Now that we're as alone as it ever gets around here," Erik began, "did you – mean that?"

"Mean what? Fiancée? Erik, I think if I'd waited for you to ask me, Gustave would be grown before you asked again – and I AM sorry about that, but, frankly, at the time, you were scaring me witless, so I went for the safe choice, and look where THAT got me! One thing you will NEVER be is the SAFE choice, but, I've grown up since then. I am not that silly girl, anymore, and what the woman wants is here," and her hand rested lightly on his chest, over his heart.

Erik looked at her, his eyes intense. Grasping her free hand, he kissed it, then said – "The child you were was charming and alluring, but the woman is a magnificent wonder to me. I would be happy to accept your proposal" (at which point his keen ears heard and ignored a muffled, "Oh, yes!" from Mr, Squelch about thirty feet off), "and will attempt to never scare you again."

Christine reached out, taking his face in her hands gently, and kissed him, mask and all. Then she made a face. "How do you stand this thing on all the time? It CAN'T be comfortable."

Erik did not reply, too stunned by her actions. She smiled, dropped her hands, and pulled him toward the entrance. "We should go talk to the priest, don't you think?"

_(A/N – So it isn't Sadie Hawkins day – still, I think that makes a good chapter break, don't you?)_


	24. Chapter 24 - The Traveler's Tale

**Chapter 24 – The Traveler's Tale**

_(A/N – Sorry for the delay, but real life was ambushing me last week, (I got a CPAP machine, so my mom schedules me for duct cleaning AND rug cleaning, which means EVERYTHING movable off the floor, right NOW – ugh!, but since she's 82 and a Gemini (with a temper) to boot – I reluctantly went along. And in the meantime, I leave my characters to simmer in my back brain, and now Tia is starting to think she's attracted to the Daroga, and I'm hoping it's just a crush, because he's got WAY too much work to do to be distracted that way, and so does SHE! Also, if I'm going to have characters encountering major supernatural entities, I'll need to define where I stand on the big three theological questions, so anyone who can't cope with my views is warned off._

_ 1 – I believe in a Supreme Deity of Light (and another of Dark). I also believe that we not only DON'T know all his/her/it/their names, it is beyond human understanding TO know all the names. Or how another culture will structure THEIR worship of the Deity. Or for that matter, the WILL of the Deity, although a __very__ few people DO have a pipeline to ask him/her/it. The difficulty is, there are always some fakers among the claimants, and most of the ones who really __can__ hear, don't talk about it._

_2 – Actions are how we will be judged, not words, (although some words ARE actions.)_

_3 – I believe in reincarnation – but that not all souls will choose that path. _

_For a fuller explanation of how I came to these views, I'll put it into my profile, this is not the venue. End of diversion.)_

A few minutes later, Christine and Erik caught up to the Daroga, who was watching as Tia unlocked the door to 1111 Surf, her (nominal) residence/office, not with a normal key, but by pressing her ring into a depression in the wood. She was escorting a tall, redheaded Irishman in a priest's collar that she was calling Father Rick, and leading him into the entry parlor. Christine and Erik rushed across, grasping the door as it was shutting behind the pair. The Daroga trailed behind them, still in "observation" mode.

Tia was startled to see the group bringing up the rear, but gestured them to sit. "I'll bring in a few extra chairs," was her comment, since Erik and Christine were hand in hand on the only couch and seemed likely to stay glued together for a while, but there were still not enough seats for the Daroga, or the bodyguards, both of whom were, /Mr. Squelch is GRINNING? What HAVE I missed, and can I get a replay from Ciara later?/, leaning against the wall while the Daroga prowled about.

Going out of earshot of her "guests" she murmured "Ciara, what gives?"

"You could say it's February 29th-" came the whisper back.

"Leap year day?" Tia still didn't get it, but she grasped some folding chairs in her "utility" closet, and started back to the parlor with them.

"Sadie Hawkins day. Go with the flow and I'll show you this evening."

By the time she'd set things up in the parlor, the group had introduced themselves all around, and Tia had figured out the Sadie Hawkins reference. /Good work, Grandmother, and best of luck. Still, I'll let the two of you lead off . . . /

Erik turned to Tia. "Just how close to completion IS that church you're building?"

Tia smirked to herself, but didn't let it show on her face. /Ignores the existence of the place for weeks, and NOW it can't get done soon enough for him - / "Oh, about another month until the structure is completed, but we could be primitive and hold Mass in the park in a week or so, in a pinch, why do you ask?" She was tempted to bat her lashes ingenuously, but refrained. /Don't overdo it – just let him say it himself. Besides, let's give Madame a chance to get off the boat, or did you forget she's due in next Wednesday? She won't want to miss this./

Erik addressed his new parish priest. "Is that estimate correct? About a week?"

Father Rick was cautious, but pretty sure of what this was leading up to. You only had to look at these two to know that if he didn't get them married soon, they were likely to start cohabitating anyway, so, providing that both were eligible and free of other impediments, no time could be too early. "I'll still have to be officially installed by my Archbishop first,"

Tia broke in with, "I'll take care of that, I have more of a rapport with him than you do, Erik, so I'll get him here ASAP. And I'll clue him about consecrating a temporary altar, then we'll just build the permanent altar around the temporary one so that we won't need to do THAT part over again. Father, once this impromptu summit meeting is over, if you could stay behind for a little while, I'm sure there are other concerns that will need addressing – we don't need to go into all the minor details right this instant. So, Erik, you were saying?"

"Christine and I wish to be married. As soon as may be." He was caressing Christine's shoulders again. It seemed to be his way of showing affection in public.

Tia grinned openly, now that she didn't have to pretend she didn't know anymore. "Let's pencil it in for the first or second Saturday in June, circumstances and weather permitting – I'll check on the weather forecasts and go for the clearest of the two dates. In the morning, about 2 hours before the gates open, maybe? By evening everyone's either tired or will have a show to tend to . . . A dawn wedding might be the best way to handle this, especially since most of the park personnel will wish to attend." /AND we can make sure that Gustave gets ecclesiastically adopted as part of the ceremony, and I'll file the legal paperwork the following Monday./

And so it went. By the time the engaged couple plus their bodyguards got up to leave, most of the details had been set, and Tia promised she'd have a final date by morning. Alone now except for the priest, she sighed and relaxed a little, slumping into a large chair. "Thank you for staying, Father, since there's a few more things you'll need to know about this posting – but some of them will sound a little – well – crazy, so keep an open mind, you'll need it."

That did not dismay THIS priest. (It was only one of the reasons Tia had cherry-picked him out of the entire Archdiocese – a fact of which he was, as yet, unaware.) "I do have some questions of my own, but I didn't want to spoil the mood – why does your employer wear a mask, for one, was he injured in the war?"

"That's the story we're using, but, and this is very much secret, so, treat it as though we were in the confessional, in fact, that may be the best and fastest way to tell this –" Tia paused, considering, then nodded to herself, took a deep breath, and began her tale. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been roughly twenty-eight years since my last confession . . . but frankly, most of the priests I've been encountering would have thought me insane. You, besides that inner gift for knowing truth when you hear it, have the mindset to believe what many would find unbelievable."

The priest eyed her speculatively. "Why do you look so young and claim to be so old? And you ARE telling the truth as you believe it – I can tell."

"Patience, Father, that's - well - call it page three, we need to get through pages one and two first. Now, let's start with this – I was born in the Year of our Lord 1976, and I have a device which allows me to travel through time. Erik is actually my paternal grandfather." She grinned, a bit ruefully. "You can begin to see why I've kept quiet, since most people would not believe a word of that."

"Through time . . .?" /And yet, she believes it – Lord, do I believe her, or is she insane?/ For Father Rick had a secret, too, sometimes, when he talked to God in his head, he seemed to hear an answer. This time he heard a clear /She does not lie, just hear her out. There are reasons you were chosen, by Me and by her./ Father Rick bowed his head in acquiescence, and prepared to hear the story of how this girl had gotten HERE.

"My story HAS to start with Grandfather's, otherwise the whole thing will not make sense, so, Erik. You were asking about the mask. He was born with a malformation of the face and head so horrific that his own mother could not bear to look at it, and an absolutely brilliant mind, along with a gift for composition, invention, and architecture (though he did not discover this gift until later). His father was dead before the birth. She raised him, if you can even call it that, until the age of seven, at which point, a gypsy caravan came by, and she sold him off for the price of several bottles of liquor. His life was – well- let's just say hellish, until he was about twelve. The caravan went to Paris, and a ballet girl helped him out of his cage, and under the Paris Opera House.

He lived there for several years, learning music, literature, and languages, learning to invent, well, to keep a long story from getting too long, absorbing knowledge like a dry sponge absorbs water. At some point, he also wound up in Persia, building a palace for the Shah. He never told me how he got there or back, but for the most part he lived a very solitary life under the Opera House, in a fortress he more or less built in the lowest cellar.

One day, about 12 years ago, he was going through a passage in the walls, when he heard a young girl crying in the chapel. She was new to the Opera House, and had just lost her father before coming – that's how he met his Christine, originally. The problem, for him was twofold. After his experiences, he was afraid to let her see him, particularly without the mask, plus he had a rival for her affections, who showed up RIGHT at the worst moment. Eventually, they worked it out, but, it took a long time. Now, he's trying to bind her to him, and I'm all for that –"

"So where do you come in?"

"Ah, yes, here's where it get sticky. I changed things in his past to get us to this point."

"Why would you feel you needed to do that?"

"Because, Father, in the timeline I left, Christine STAYED with her other suitor for ten years, came to America only because her drunken spouse had left them with no means of support except to sing, which she does spectacularly, and got herself shot dead by her once best friend, leaving Erik to raise her son (and his), and the pain of living without her eventually led him to a very gory suicide. I'll do ANYTHING to keep that from happening-"

"Hence this time-trip?"

"That's it. In pursuit of that, I've spent over twenty years scouring old shipwrecks for financing, I've bent the truth every way but backwards, I've stolen the time machine shed key off of my father's desk, I've missed more masses than I can count, I've even met Mephistopheles, but at least I have some hope of getting us all out of this alive – and that reminds me, we're going to need to tack an adoption of the baby onto that wedding ceremony."

"Back up a second, you've met whom?"

"I don't like to say his name, it might draw his attention, so let's call him by one of his titles. I've actually encountered the Prince of this World, about a month ago, in Paris. I can't believe we've seen the last of HIM, either and I have a sneaking hunch he'll pick the wedding to reappear."

"And you want me to help you fight him, don't you?"

"If he shows up again, yes. But I'll do it alone if I have to, because I'm NOT going back to my Grandfather's detached head bleeding all over my family living room carpet!" And Tia, normally so impervious to emotion, finally broke into tears at the memory, yanking a handkerchief out of her sleeve.

Father Rick let her cry while he consulted with his inner voice again. /Is this my task? How does one fight Satan, when he shows up in person? Fisticuffs?/

/Nothing so crude, besides, he's more likely to send his current agent, he only showed up himself because Darius was about to be arrested, which would have nullified his power in that region. Ask her about Darius, and see what she says./

"Who is Darius?"

"HIS current minion." Tia was still leaking tears, but her voice steadied as she spoke. " He THINKS he's serving the God Mammon, and in a sense, he IS, but . . . Black hair, and skin as white as Erik's mask. And NO morals to speak of, he's the one who encouraged Christine's other suitor to lose the family estate at Roulette in Monte Carlo. In exchange for giving her up, I made certain that Raoul can't lose it again, if only for the sake of his family. But we need to watch for him, too, he's slipperier than a basket of oiled snakes."

"You're asking a lot of one humble priest –"

"Just the fact that you're taking this seriously has helped me a very great deal." She sighed, then grinned, a bit shakily. "So, how many rosaries are you going to assign as a penance?"

_(A/N – Since I haven't said it lately, Tia, Ciara, Marvin, Mr. Toomey, And Father Rick are mine – everyone else is not my property. Reviews, anyone? Or are you all home for Thanksgiving? Anyway, we'll have the wedding next, just as soon as I can whip up a Kevlar Gown, Tuxedo, and Baby Blanket -)_


	25. Chapter 25 - One Day More

**Chapter 25 – One Day More**

_(A/N – Well, in the absence of other feedback, I must conclude that everybody loves this storyline (or else I've scared everyone away) and that nobody wants to change a single thing. Oh, and since there are people who need a visual, I'm seeing mostly the Australian Cast of Love Never Dies in my head, except the Daroga. My Daroga? Picture Ramin Karimloo, add about ten years in age, lengthen the hair a few inches, add some strands of silver-grey to the hair (in streaks by the temples), and maybe sharpen the wits up JUST a little. Yummy! But then, I've always gone for the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome. So, OK, we continue on this path, although I must admit, I thought I had buried that Mystic streak YEARS ago -)_

It was two days till the wedding. Erik was burying himself in details (mostly to deny to himself that he was as nervous as a mouse at a cat convention,) Madame Giry had gotten off the boat, heard Christine out, and then glued herself to Christine's side in support, the Park Staff were all taking turns either setting up the park for the wedding, working on the church, or planning aspects of the wedding breakfast, (most of the women were cooking something or other special), Tia was obviously overworking, (she had insisted on making up the outfits for Erik, Christine, and Gustave – but she had let Erik give her the initial design sketches), with a temper as touchy as a lit fuse, and the Daroga was about ready to curse, he still could find not one fact about Tia's past before she got to New York.

/It is time,/ thought the Daroga, somewhat grimly. /to solve this mystery./ He was ready. He had managed, with some difficulty, to talk the seal ring off Erik's finger (for the night), since it seemed like there was no other way into 1111 Surf without Tia letting you in, and he'd still never gotten past the entry parlor. He knew, somehow, that the answers he sought were all in that house somewhere, and the ring was the only door key. (He had already tried, and failed, to pick the lock.)

Sure enough, with the ring pressed in the door slot, the door opened without so much as a creak of hinges. He got past the entry hall, and the front parlor, only to hear music such as he'd never heard before, coming from down the small hall, where a light shone in the far room.

Sure enough, Tia was there, working with 2 dressmakers dummies, (kneeling in front of one with a long, sharp, needle in one hand) while a device that looked like a barely 4 inch black ball on a nearby small table seemed to be the source of the sound, which was at least as loud as having an orchestra in the same room. As he peered around the doorjamb she said, (obviously not to him,) "Y'know, Ciara, I wish we'd taken the Longs up on their offer of a fabric extruder, this stuff is bloody hard to work with!"

An alto voice seemed to come out of that same black ball, while the sound volume muted down a notch. "You were the one insisting on using Kevlar –"

"I know, I know, but, you know why – it's-"

"Stronger than steel, and bulletproof, AND makes a good floatation device, yeah, I know. Hang in there, you're nearly done. And then you're going to take a break, or you'll be an utter WITCH by the wedding, and we need to be at our most alert. Just because Darius can't shoot them in these outfits –"

That was enough for the Daroga. "Who is Darius, and why would he be shooting at anyone?"

Tia jolted, then growled, (again, not at him) "Ciara, WHY did you let him in? I don't have time for this! I have WORK to do!"

"You have, " and a grinding noise game over the speaker "all the time you need – I just put MYSELF on hover, and, I should have done this DAYS ago, so you could get some sleep! Now reassure the nice man that neither he nor you are crazy. The hemming on Christine's gown can WAIT a few minutes."

Tia grumbled her agreement, put up the needle she'd been using, and got up off the floor, only to sink into a nearby chair. "Sit down, Daroga; this will take some time to explain."

It took hours. Oh, not to explain the concept, but to convince Nadir Khan that he HADN'T wandered into "some opium dream." They had to give him a complete tour of Ciara, and let him browse the research library (and the family pictures-). When she finally had him convinced, she let Ciara explain why he couldn't go out the door just yet –"Daroga, this is a time ship, and we're not re-entering the time stream until Tia has A. Gotten some rest and B. Finished that dress. She's been too busy with details to think straight for days, if not weeks. Relax, this is the one instance where the world will wait for us –" while she dozed in her chair, not even realizing that she was drifting off.

Some little time later, Ciara cleared her "throat", "Daroga, I am aware by your standards I have no right to ask anything of you, but, Tia CAN'T really rest like that, and I have no hands to effect a transfer to her bed. Will you help?"

Since her room was the one part of the ship that was off limits on the "tour", and he wanted to see if there was anything unusual in there, he agreed to help. First he rolled the chair, with Tia still asleep in it – to her door, which Ciara opened for him. It was a rather large bedroom, with a life-size portrait (actually a photograph) hanging across from the bed. It appeared to be a family shot, with Erik, a tall handsome brunette man, a semi-tall blond woman, and some five children, of years varying from about twelve for the oldest boy to about six for the youngest girl, who had a mischievous smile on her face and her hair in a single braid to her left, (which was, usually, how Tia wore her hair.)

"No Christine, I see." Was his comment to Ciara, who had taken over the explaining, once Tia was too tired to be coherent.

"That, Daroga, is EXACTLY what we're trying to change – but in the timeline we came from, by the time that picture was taken, she'd been dead and buried for a very long time."

The Daroga swiftly and efficiently managed the transfer of girl to bed – and then quietly retreated back down the hall. He wanted another look at that research library, plus some of those special jewelry pieces in there – especially since he evidently had some time before he could go back to his own (small) house.

By the time Tia had finally tied off the last stitch, he had gotten a fair way into her research notes, and was starting to admire the organized mind that had written them. /She thinks a lot like my Fetinah used to./ he noted to himself.

Tia looked up from her fussing with the now-completed garments at that point. "I do apologize that you were effectively trapped here with no warning, but if you will open doors that are locked for good and sufficient reason, you will have to accept that actions have consequences. And how DID you get that door open, since my TARDIS Key has not left my hand in many years?"

"Deductive logic. Erik's ring is an exact duplicate of the one you wear - I presume because it is the same ring?"

"Yes, Daroga, it is the same piece, which is a fact I don't think even Erik has puzzled out yet, it is merely – the older version. You see, there are certain – rules – that a traveler such as myself must accept – one of them being that – IF you try to alter your OWN direct past – which is the FIRST thing everyone thinks of – you will either fail or mess it up worse – because you will be too emotionally involved to be objective when you need to be. The only reason I'm getting away with this is because, while I do love Erik dearly, I never met Christine in my time. Heard about her? Endlessly, but never met her till about a year and a half ago. Thus, I can achieve the required objectivity. But, it is OBVIOUS that she's his emotional stability – the Erik of my day was much more – er – volatile, shall we say?"

Taking one last look about – she nodded to herself. "That should do. Ciara, cancel hover, and let the Daroga go home so he can sleep under his own roof, I imagine he's more than tired by now."

"And what will you do, Boss?"

"I think – I will leave things in your hands – observationally – for tonight, so I will deliver these outfits, and then come back and have myself a movie night – I haven't taken a day off in ages. Maybe I'll watch Kismet – that's always a good mood-lifter. Or Mamma Mia, or – hmmm, let me think about this – the possibilities are endless! And tomorrow, I'll sweep the grounds for hidden hazards, post guards, and make sure that all the supplies are ready to go as needed. Soon, Ciara, soon, we should be able to go HOME! I can hardly wait."

"With a little stop at the Longs. . . ."

"Yes, metalsister, I know. I haven't forgotten. "

The Daroga left at that point, puzzling over that last word "metalsister", could a machine truly ever be anyone's sibling? /Think about that tomorrow – for tonight, get some sleep. It may be only ten-twenty PM by the Phantasma clock, but your watch says eight-forty – and that's got to be PM, not AM./ He'd been up for more than thirty hours.

_(A/N – Well, the stage is set, the actors are ready, and the big finish will come next – though I'll probably do an Epilogue – so, comments? Questions? Feedback?)_


	26. Chapter 26 - The Uninvited Guest

**Chapter 26 – The Uninvited Guest**

_(A/N – OK, I've been writing towards this scene (and the Epilogue) for almost 35 thousand words now, so – Welcome aboard to christine parillo.7 and The Book Fangirl – (as well as all the ones who prefer to remain anonymous) – Everyone, fasten your seatbelts, this flight may get a bit turbulent before we get back to land. And – to keep the legalities straight, I own Tia, Ciara, Marvin, Mr. Toomey, and Father Rick – everyone else comes courtesy of someone else's brain. Ready – Here Weeeee Goooo!)_

It was about two hours until dawn, Saturday, June 9, 1897, the weather was clear and seasonal, about 60 degrees farenheight with about mid 70's predicted by noon, and nearly all of Phantasma was awake and fussing about last minute details for "The Boss's Wedding Day". Erik still didn't understand why everyone was making such a fuss about a simple wedding, but, since Christine seemed thrilled with all the preparations, he went along with it. He was still a trifle bewildered by the suit Tia had produced (What WAS that fabric?) but had consented to wear it, after she had finished the last stiches, using what seemed like a tentmaker's needle, to fit it to his (still stick thin) frame. He had also insisted on a few tucks to Christine's dress, which Tia also had made with that same super-sharp needle.

The gazebo had been decorated with as many flowers as they could get to fit – roses of every color predominated, but there were also bluebells, iris, poppies, and about a dozen other varieties woven into the whitewashed wooden latticework. Father Rick had borrowed an altar cloth from the Cathedral in downtown Manhattan, which completely enveloped the altar in white satin with white on white embroidered designs, featuring doves and double rings entwined with crosses... (At least three of the women had helped him fold the oversized cloth to fit, and show off the design, as perfectly as they could contrive.)

The path to the altar was strewn with flower petals (from the flowers that DIDN'T fit on the gazebo – Tia had had to intervene, or the path would have been two inches deep in the slippery things), but she had directed that the extra flowers be placed all over the Phantasma buildings, fences, and everywhere else, with a select percentage going to Erik's new house, to decorate every room there.

The entire orchestra was all there, lining the fence on three sides of the park; Tia had even managed to move a portable organ into place, as well as the best piano (except for Erik's, which was still in the Aerie).

As a last touch, Tia placed a large orb with an even larger cross dead-center on the altar. This was set with a center stone that she still could not identify, and had been in the Brittany haul, in a chest all its' own, but it did make a nice altar piece. (She had her suspicions that it had originally been part of the English Coronation Regalia, but hey, finders keepers.)

Even Father Rick had a new surplice, donated by Tia – she'd used the last of her roll of white Kevlar, just in case there was a bullet, she didn't need it ricocheting into their new priest! She had guards posted at all approaches, and every fence line was being watched. She'd even gotten the guards positioned so that every manhole cover to or from the sewer system had someone watching for anything out of the ordinary. If The Prince Of This World wanted himself or his minion inside Phantasma, he'd have to manifest them both (which HE could do, but that, at least, she could not defend against. Still, she'd already taken Darius down ONCE . . .)

She had a special surprise set up with the orchestra leader, the processional was to be the "Wedding Song" written by Noel "Paul" Stookey (not that she was telling anyone that it wasn't going to be written for 75 years yet!) with their best male vocalist doing the singing (she'd given him the sheet music over a week ago, and the orchestra leader's eyes had lit up in appreciation.)

He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts  
Rest assured this troubadour is acting on His part.  
The union of your spirits, here, has caused Him to remain  
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name  
There is Love. There is Love.

Well, a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home  
They shall travel on to where the two should be as one.  
As it was in the beginning, is now until the end  
Woman draws a life from man and gives it back again.  
And there is Love. There is Love.

Well, then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?  
Is it Love that brings you here or Love that brings you life?  
Or if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for?  
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?  
Oh there's Love, oh there's Love.

Oh the marriage of your spirits here has caused Him to remain  
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name  
There is Love. Ah there's Love.

All was going well, and Tia was hoping it would stay that way, right up to the point when the first kiss was to be exchanged. Tia suddenly felt like it was 29 degrees below zero, which meant that they now had at least one uninvited guest to deal with. Gesturing to Father Rick to finish the ceremony regardless, she turned towards the back of the park. Only Father Rick heard, and understood, the words she whispered softly as she went. It was the Latin version of Psalm 130, also known as the "De Profundus." (_A/N – a rough translation is "Out of the depths I cry to thee, Oh, Lord . . ._")

For Tia it was like walking through glue – though no-one else seemed to notice anything amiss even yet – HE was back in his handsome as anything could be persona, and dressed for the occasion, and Darius was not with him. /No loss, except, WHAT does HE want, and how do I deal with him?/

As she continued towards whatever awaited her, she mentally surrendered herself to whatever might happen, reciting the line in her head /Thy Will Be Done,/ but, Tia being Tia, could not resist adding /If You will show me how to do it./ In her heightened mental state, she didn't even blink when she Heard? Thought? Felt? She wasn't sure, but it said, /Open to Me, and I will help you./

/Come in then, if you be of the Light./ she returned, not caring that the price might be herself. She had committed to whatever it took YEARS ago, she would not turn away at the last moment (although part of her was wailing in primitive terror.)

Father Rick was watching, even while his hands, more or less on auto-pilot, finished the gestures of the Mass. To him it seemed as if Tia was absorbing a light, iridescent mist as she walked, but somehow, he could not be afraid.

Tia reached the stranger, and they bowed at each other, and Tia (who was not only Tia at the moment) said, "Hello, Lightbearer, it is good to see you again."

Mr. M, blinked once, then said, "Hello, Uriel, still following orders blindly, I see."

Uriel/Tia laughed without sound, "Following, yes, blindly, no, but then, I never COULD convince you of that, so let us not go there now. You are not going to win that argument at this late date, no more than I, so let us get right to the point. What do you seek here?"

Mr. M gestured toward the altar. "I want – that stone. You and I both know what power it has, and these mortal fools will not figure it out for years, if not centuries. Father was remiss in letting it stay on earth, anyway –"

Uriel frowned, but let the slur, if slur it was, pass. "Lou, can't you give it a rest and come home? We all miss you –"

"Home? HOME? I've got my own kingdom, where my word is law, what has home got that I haven't?"

"Your family." Came the flat reply, and Tia felt the fringes of Uriel's longing for his brother to come back where he SHOULD be. It was so strong that Tia felt a tear welling up in her eye in sympathy, and did not try to hide it. Uriel smiled at his brother gently, and held out the hand with the single tear still shimmering wetly on her/his fingertip. "Come home", Uriel urged again, still gently, and reached towards his brother.

Tia was shocked to see the Prince dodge the hand as though it were poisonous, muttering "Tears, freely given? Uri, you KNOW what that will do to this form! You win, I'll leave her and hers alone, but don't TOUCH me with that!" And, as swiftly as he had appeared, he was gone.

Uriel sighed, sad but not surprised by his brother's choice.

Surprised, but relieved, Tia mentally queried, /what's wrong with tears?/

/Nothing, child, but to him, it would have burned like acid. He's warped himself to the point where he's inside a "shell" of pain. That tear would have burned right through it. As for you, child, your task is accomplished. I will ensure that your unspoken nightmare will not happen. None of your family will come to the Light because of disease before you return home. Now, smile, the nuptial couple is coming this way, and I must go. Thank you for your help./

And Tia, smiling, began to make plans to go home, in about a week, after she'd left an economic guide for the family finances with Erik, and trained up someone (she had several candidates in mind, she'd have to pick one.)

Meanwhile, Erik and Christine were on their way to the Wedding Breakfast, which was set up in the Hotel Phantasma Main Dining Room (although Tia fully expected Erik to sneak off with Christine as soon as both of them had eaten and had made the Stable Master put a dual saddle on Cesar, tying him outside the Hotel side door, and making sure Erik knew where he was.)

_(A/N – OK, TWO more chapters, one here and one at Tia's house, and then - I have an idea for a new tale- What if, instead of Christine the child coming from a Christian culture, she came from one where scars were a sign of physical prowess? And what if they met – face to face, while she was still under 10 years old? How would that change the situation? I'm still trying to figure the rest of the tale, but, I have the opening scene stuck in my head, so, watch for Going Swimming – coming soon to a FanFiction near you!)_


	27. Chapter 27 - To Have And To Hold

**Chapter 27 – To Have And To Hold**

_(A/N –I still own nobody except Tia, Ciara, Fr. Rick, Marvin, and Mr. Toomey. But if ALW ever wants to deal . . . Also, if one is going to have an "M" rating – this is the one chance I have to have some fun with it. As for the delay, well, the holidays hit me first, and then I went to see the new Les Miserables movie – and wow, never mind what the local critics said – I LOVED IT. Although, Amanda Seyfreid and Sarah Brightman must share the same vocal coach, a little less vibrato would have been better, for me.)_

Christine and Erik finally managed to get away (after about two hours) and onto Cesar – headed for Erik's new house. By this time, Erik had figured out where Christine wanted his arms to be when riding – and he held his arms firmly around Christine's waist, silently regretting all the layers of cloth between them.

It was just as well that Cesar knew the way, since Erik was too busy marveling at the fact that he HADN'T needed to cheat, lie, steal, or kill to get Christine to say yes to him to give the horse any guidance. She was his, his before God, Man, and about a hundred witnesses. They would be a real family – a living wife, and at least one child (possibly more). /And it seems that whatever went wrong with MY birth, it DIDN'T pass on to my son – so it isn't hereditary./ And that thought let Erik breathe a lot easier.

Christine let her head rest on the sturdy strength of the man behind her, and wondered about the first time they had made love. Certainly at no point during her year or so with Raoul she had never again felt the way her one night with Erik had made her feel. /I wonder, will I ever feel that same joy again? Or does it only happen once? Maybe it's only when a woman conceives . . . /

Erik was remembering his "last night of freedom" as Nadir Khan had put it – if that was supposed to be a night to revisit all he would be giving up, well, he'd certainly done that – he'd been terrified that at the last minute, Christine would come to her senses and he would be left alone – again. He'd said so – repeatedly – to the Daroga, whose response was always some variation on – "Erik – she ASKED YOU – remember – you told me that about the time it occurred. Your fears are normal, pre-wedding jitters. She'll be there. But if you don't calm down, YOU will be the one fainting at the altar in the morning – so stop pacing and sit down!" Just the memory of it made him sigh into Christine's lavender-scented curls and cuddle her about a half-inch closer, reveling in her nearness.

That led to thoughts about the conversation he'd had with Nadir once he HAD managed to plant himself into a chair – "you've been married, what am I supposed to be DOING?" Nadir, blast him, had seemed AMUSED by this question.

"Erik, you must know SOMETHING about this, you DID manage to conceive a son . . . "

"Yes, but – Nadir, I've read all the books I could find about - sex – but the advice in one book contradicts the technique in the next one. How will I know what I'm doing is right?" Erik could feel his face flushing behind his mask as he said this.

"Oh, that. Well, unfortunately, each woman is slightly different. Your best bet is to pay attention to her reactions – since, if you're doing things correctly, she shouldn't be able to talk much, if at all. If she stiffens up or pulls back, either ease up or try something else, but above all, take your time. Don't rush. If you are enjoying a sensation, and she's relaxing into your embrace, you're doing things right."

After what seemed like two more hours on horseback, they reached Erik's new family home. (Tia had given orders to "Place the flowers, then get back to Phantasma – the newlyweds are going to want some time together ALONE. I expect you back promptly!" Not only were there more flowers on the path, there were some on the door, and in every (unlocked) room. Erik cared about only one. Lifting his wife (finally) into his arms, he carried her across the threshold (she had the presence of mind to shut the door after them), up the stairs and to the master suite. He was thankful for the regimen that he had been following for years of strength training, since most men probably could not have carried a full grown woman so far without exhausting themselves in the process. (Of course, the adrenaline rush didn't hurt . . .)

They looked at each other – in the full light of day – on the one hand, Erik wished for night, his old friend, to hide his face, on the other hand, he could now see all of his lady's charms clearly. He gently placed her on their bed, then paused just to savor the lovely sight. She seemed a little shy, but not uneasy – but her fingers worked at that strange fabric before giving up. "Erik, can you help me out of this getup, please? I can't seem to manage it . . . ."

"Of course, my dear – what IS this fabric, anyway? Certainly nothing I've ever seen before. All Tia would tell me about it was, "It'll keep you both much safer – I'll tell you all about it later.""

"What she said to ME was – "It's bulletproof, flameproof, and waterproof, just in case.""

Right now Erik wished HE were flameproof, he certainly felt like he would go up in flames at any second. As Christine was slowly revealing herself to his avid gaze, his body was starting to screech for him to just TAKE her , but, this was NOT the time to be hurried. /You have all day, quit trying to rush!/ he reminded himself, sternly.

Christine paused when she got to her shift, and looked at Erik, speculatively. Tentatively. she said, "Will you let me – um – can I help YOU out of your clothes, too?"

Erik was startled out of his sensual haze at THAT thought. "My Christine, I, - /never dreamed you would WANT to./ Yes, I would like that, if you wish to."

Christine was not a very skilled valet, but Erik didn't really care. Just having her hands willingly on him, caressing his shoulders and back through the linen shirt with one hand as she removed his coat with the other, was a marvel to him.

Christine was enjoying herself, but she was also thinking of the advice she had gotten from Madame over the past few days.

"If there is something you truly want - or don't want – in your marriage – either ask BEFORE the wedding or on your wedding day. Start as you mean to go on – and – if you can get your man aroused before you ask, your chances of getting it are better." had been what Madame's advice had boiled down to.

Christine wished she had had THAT advice before she had married Raoul, since she had, more or less, bent to his every whim at first. By the time she had known better . . . /No, Christine, stop thinking of the past, especially now. Erik is NOT Raoul. He does not deserve to be treated as anyone but himself./

"Erik, can I ask you something?"

"Christine, ask what you will." /Just don't stop touching me./

"I – want" her tone, hesitant at first, strengthened as she spoke. "this room to be our sanctuary. In this room, when the door is shut behind us, I want only honesty. No tricks, no lies, no masks of words. We do not hide from each other in this room. Speak or be silent, but no lies. Will you agree?" The last three words were hesitant, again.

He gave the request the consideration that her serious tone demanded, then he agreed, surprised that this meant so much that she would demand (and, for all her shy tone, he could tell that this WAS a demand,) honesty above all. /Just WHAT did that idiot do to her? Should I ask or be silent?/ But if she could set ground rules –he had one himself. "If we are laying foundations, I agree to your request. But if a subject comes up that I say I do not wish to talk about – the subject is closed unless I bring it up myself."

"As long as you allow me the same privilege, I will go along with that."

He nodded, and she fell silent – looking at his back, where she had just gotten his shirt off. Hesitantly now, her hands smoothed over the areas where scar met with scar in a patch-quilt of old reminders of pain. "Does this – ever still hurt you?"

"Only when I remember that time, which is not so often, anymore. It was a long time ago."

"Do you – want to tell me about it?"

"Maybe someday, but not here and now, I do not want THAT ghost in this room. Only we are here, that is how it should remain."

"You have a point." By now Christine was nude, and he was rapidly being distracted from speech. He did tense when she reached up for his mask, but did not pull away, fighting against his natural impulse. /No masks in this room – and she knows what I look like,/ he tried to sooth his jitters. Not that his body was listening to his brain much by now.

Christine made no comment on his bare face, too absorbed with the intricacies of getting his pants off while he held her close, stroking HER back in turn. Finally, she had his staff free, and she explored this new diversion first with her eyes, and then, pushing him lightly to the bed – he went down willingly, lost in the growing fire of sensuality they were kindling, she reached out first one hand, then both, and all Erik felt like doing was laying there and enjoying this for the next little while – two or three decades should be about right. "Christine, you don't have to –"

"Shh. Let me play, a little. When we – our first time – well, you made me feel wonderful, special, like I've never felt before or since. Let me do the same to you."

Erik was struck by the words, "or since." From his research, and from Nadir, he knew that women could orgasm, but it seemed that the idiot boy had NOT known (or possibly, not cared) about his wife's pleasure. /And WHY are you letting HIS ghost in here? You've won, he's lost, that's it. Pay attention to your wife, not the ghost of a man who deserves only pity./

As he relaxed back into this playful mood of Christine's, he began to truly believe, for the first time in many years, that maybe, just maybe, someone COULD love him, scarred freak though he was. And it was a good beginning, and it just felt wonderful, to contemplate where they could go from here.

As they both fell into the sexual haze, Erik's last coherent thought of the day was to make a mental note to thank Tia for her persistence, since she had done everything she could to get them here, but later . . .


	28. Chapter 28 and Epilogue - Homecomings

**Chapter 28 – Homecomings**

_(I hate writing endings, but – it's time. And besides, I want to try my hand at an AU story about Christine and Erik – I'm calling it "Going Swimming".)_

It was July 18, 1897. Tia had finished training a replacement financial advisor, pointed out the pitfalls to avoid for the next hundred years or so, retrieved that strange orb back into storage in her ship, and said farewell to most of the Phantasma staff. She had even, at Ciara's urging, left her bottle of antibiotics, along with strict instructions how to use them, in Raoul's bedchamber, making sure that he wasn't in it at the time first. She just had said goodbye to Christine, Erik, and Gustave -/but, Ghu willing, it will only be until we all meet again . . . /

Ciara spoke in the earbud Tia was wearing, "We could stay here a while, you know."

"I know we could, but, it's time. He's got to learn to deal with people without me as the intermediate layer between, and Christine stabilizes him better than anyone else ever could. Well, just see this past month, he's mellowed out tremendously."

"The temper is still lurking, though . . ."

Tia shrugged. "Nothing I can do about that, he'll always have one… " At that point, she turned at the sound of footsteps behind her. Nadir Khan came up, with a small valise in one hand.

Still a bit breathless from the run, he composed his thoughts, and his attire, before stating, bluntly. "You're leaving, aren't you. Today?"

Tia nodded. "It's time. They don't need me here anymore, and, I miss my family. Plus, I have promises to keep - /One of them to my ship . . . /

"May I – accompany you?"

Tia was startled, but cautiously optimistic. "I won't ever be able to come back to here and now, so be sure that this is what you want. Yes, with luck, you will see Erik again, but it will be many years, at least from his viewpoint, before we all meet again. Once you board, we will go to places you will find very odd, and with different customs and rules than anything you have encountered. Think for a second, will you not miss what is here? Here is well known, and comfortable, and you have no guarantee that you will make such friends elsewhere. Now, if you ask again, bearing all that in mind, you may come along, but you must make your decision with all the facts before you."

The Daroga nodded. "I am a stranger in a strange land here anyway, and I cannot return to Persia, even were there anything left for me there. Let us travel, then."

Tia smiled. "Come then. By the way, our first stop is a place where they can turn your biological clock back to about 18 years old, and we'll be there long enough to take advantage of their services. Want to feel like a teen again?"

**Epilogue**

It was July 18, 1996 at the Y'Phoenix family estate, in New York State. A gardening shed shimmered into view on the front lawn, and four people stepped out – two female, two male.

There was a group of people standing on the lawn, seemingly waiting for this event. One couple were completely white-haired, but still in good health, and the man had a mask and hat on (it was much too warm for a cloak.) His arm was about his lady's waist, and he sighed in satisfaction as his calculations were now proven accurate. There were other couples scattered in small conversational groups, one pair stepped forward to greet the four people. Gustave spoke first. "It's about time you got home! We've been waiting for hours! Don't do that again."

Tia flushed, but said, meekly enough. "Sorry, Papa, but I needed to avoid paradox – it seemed safest to add six hours to my departure time. As to doing it again – once was enough, thank you. Besides, not all the Avatars I observed wanted or needed my help, and at least three really didn't deserve any help. But enough of that, let me introduce my companions. This is Nadir, "

Erik broke in, "So THAT's where you went – wait – how did you get so young?"

The Daroga (who looked about 22) grinned at his old friend. "It's actually pretty easy, it just takes a TARDIS machine to get to the ones who can do it. They said to tell you that you and your family have a standing invitation, want to feel young again, old man?"

Erik turned to his Christine. "Well, what do you think?"

"Let's talk about this tonight, we have guests waiting right now."

"You have a point." But at that moment the other man from the Tardis turned his head. "Nikola, is that you? I thought you were dead in 1948!"

"No my friend, Ciara picked me up, and we have been travelling about. That was before she became human." He indicated the dark-haired woman. "She even married me. I just came along to see Tia back to her family, then we're going exploring again."

Tia relaxed, finally realizing who the rest of these people were. She had Aunts. And Uncles! And family. She could talk her Grandfather into rejuvenation later. She had time now. She was home.

_(A/N – Finally! I'm done here. Any reviews before I start the next one?)_


End file.
